


Mind Games

by Fier



Category: The X-Files
Genre: 100k+ words, Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Case Fic, Dana Scully Angst, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fox Mulder Angst, Fox Mulder Torture, Happy Ending, Homophobic Language, Hurt Fox Mulder, Hurt/Comfort, Murder Mystery, Past Character Death, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Sexual Abuse, Rape/Non-con Elements, Romance, Seasons 6-7, Sexual Content, Smut, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Supernatural Elements, Underage Rape/Non-con, Whump, under the influence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:49:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 18
Words: 122,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25639795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fier/pseuds/Fier
Summary: A horrific series of child molestations and murders has escalated. The director himself, under political pressure from the Justice Department has no choice but to assign the FBI's best profiler to the case, despite a promise he made ten years previously. But this series of killings has no resemblance to anything anyone in the FBI, including the X-files' Fox Mulder, has ever encountered before.
Relationships: Fox Mulder/Dana Scully, Walter Skinner/Original Female Character
Comments: 5
Kudos: 25





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> **! Content warning for disturbing subject matter - graphic description of violence towards children. Please read the introduction before continuing.**
> 
> Mind Games
> 
> by Spider
> 
> Date Completed: September 1999.
> 
> Author/Feedback: YES please! Feedback is what feeds writers, without it, we shrivel and die. spider@webspin.org
> 
> Category: MSR, X, S, M/angst, S/angst. Skinner...not telling 
> 
> Spoilers: Everything up to Unnatural, concept rooted in Grotesque but also using something revealed in Biogenesis.
> 
> Disclaimers: All the bits that they want belong to CC, Fox, DD, GA, MP, et al. All that they don't are mine Rating: WARNING: NC17 for sexual situations, language and VERY disturbing, graphic pedophile violence (taken from real cases, see references at the end). It is not gratuitous, it is contextual, but nevertheless you will find it disturbing; as well you should. I cannot stress this too much, abandon now if you think you won't cope, don't bother to flame if you get halfway through and start upchucking. Some characters take apparently very dark twists, but hang in there....all will be revealed.
> 
> Thanks: Laurie (Shannara) Daniel Wood. Julie & Megan, for beta reading, and forcing me to re-think again and again and again!
> 
> Any shortcomings are mine alone.
> 
> One day David Duchovny, supposedly indifferent to M&S romance, gave us a believable combination of motive and opportunity for the furtherance of the M&S relationship with the final scene in The Unnatural...This world kicks off a couple of hours after that...

**Day 1 - Saturday**

**Central Hotel - Seattle**

**7:30 pm**

**From the journal of Crystal Palmer.**

It's been so long now that I've almost forgotten what it was like before they came. I hate it more with each passing day. I used to think they were cold, emotionless, but now I know it covers a bleakness of spirit. They walk in here, tall and black. They must all shop at the same store, even the women generally wear black. So formal, like a barricade against the rest of the world. Like undertakers.

Before the others came there were only those from the Seattle office who came in for a drink or a meal. They seemed okay, except Forenzzi. None of them ever seriously propositioned me up or talk down to me except for him. A couple of the new ones have asked me out for a drink, but they're never pushy, I'll give them that. And never ever sexist remarks or a slap on the butt, except of course for Forenzzi. In some ways, they remind me of Mormons, too.

Always with the short hair, black pants and white shirt, neat tie, polite and softly spoken. It took me a long time to notice the bulge under their arms, or on their hips.

We've had cops in here, too, so that didn't bother me. But I never really saw these local agents like cops. The most they ever seemed to talk about was fraud and white collar crime, nothing like this.

After the kids were killed and the local P.D. couldn't get any leads, they called in some sort of FBI expert. Then others trickled in, but a trickle turned to a flood when out of state kids were found dead in Seattle. And it made me sick, for they brought with them a darkness. It's awful about the kids, but I think you can - and need to - put it out of your mind. You can't dwell on it all the time, walking around, thinking about the horror. But these people here mean you can't turn it off. There's so much other ugliness on the television, on the news, it angers me, but you can choose to turn it off, or not watch and go back to just living. But with these people, they're here every day and it keeps reminding you. Every minute of every day it hits you fair square in the face.

There are monsters out there, living amongst us. Monsters that tear children apart and hang them up on people's clothes and power lines in little pieces, like bloodied sheets out to dry.

And it just never goes away.

I hate it.

I hate that they remind me we are powerless to prevent the monsters. Just look at them, they're no closer to finding out who's doing this than they were a year ago.

Dad lives in fear. It's silly, really. No one's going to hurt Jace when the place is crammed full of these guys, these black carrion birds hovering over their awful photos and bits of bloodied clothing.

Oh yeah, I know all right.

I was cleaning one of the rooms when the new ones arrived, about eight months back. The place smelled of sweat and something else, something I couldn't understand until later. And then I saw the photos on the wall. I couldn't fathom them out at first, so I took a closer look. At first they looked like mannequin parts hanging on a line, like all the arms and legs had been pulled out of a doll. Then it hit me.

It was a child.

I threw up in the damned toilet. Had a few nightmares over that one, but I would have gotten over it except for them.

They kept reminding me.

I told them I wouldn't clean the rooms with that stuff hanging around, so they ended up taking over most of the ground floor. Brought their own cleaners in, but after a while the cleaners refused to go in there. I had to start cleaning before the roaches took over. At first it was like I'd hold my breath, but now I'm okay. Then I worried that I'd become accustomed to it. Couldn't win on that one. I talked to one of the agents and he was the one who came up with the breath-holding analogy. Not really, of course, figuratively, just building a wall between it and your emotions. It seems to have worked.

I've come to accept it since then, just avoid looking at the pictures and evidence bags. And over the last six months or so I've been helping out, here and there. They're all supposed to be top notch, these feds, but sometimes they can be pretty dumb. Hate to think how many times I've gotten them out of a jam with their software, or jiggled the plugs on their computers, or God save 'em, downloaded stuff. Oh sure, they have technicians across the road, but sometimes it'll take them a day or longer just to come across and tell them all they had to do was check their plugs and re-boot. Crazy. I can't sit back and say nothing.

Now, they tend to come and ask me first. I don't mind, especially if it gets them out of here faster.

I realize this sounds pretty mixed up, that I could hate them and want to help them. It's just that I want them gone, I want my life back on an even keel...okay, so it wasn't so even to start with but, shit, I hate how I feel at the moment.


	2. Chapter 1

**Day 1 - Saturday**

**Washington D.C.**

**11:15 pm**

Mulder sat back into the folds of the sofa and lifted his bare feet onto the scattered files across the coffee table.

He mindlessly rubbed his stomach in satisfaction.

"What was the name of that place?"

"Rube's," replied Scully. "It's just around the corner."

"S'good...wonder if they'd deliver to Alexandria?"

Scully grinned as she handed him his coffee. "Sure, Mulder, for an extra twenty bucks."

"Mm, in that case I think I'll just come here more often."

Scully raised her eyebrow and in a voice tinged with sarcasm replied "Make yourself at home."

"Don't I always?"

He sat forward and accepted the cup with a quirky grin. It was too hot to drink, so he placed it on the table beside his feet, pushing a file to one side to make room. He closed his eyes and stretched his arms out and above his head before leaning back contentedly in the sofa.

Scully sat beside him. Her hands, cold from rinsing their plates, wrapped themselves around the mug. She copied her partner's languorous position and lifted her feet to rest beside his on the table.

"So, Mulder, you're trying to tell me that all the great baseball players were aliens. That's an interesting variation on the Bewitched theory."

Mulder half lifted one eyelid, dropped and turned his head in mute query.

"You never saw the TV program, Bewitched, where all the great ballplayers turned out to be warlocks?"

"Scully, you amaze me, you actually watched that show?"

"Well, no, but Melissa watched the re-runs. What else did Arthur Dales' brother have to say?...No, no, no...I take that back."

Scully shook her head and closed her eyes wondering why on earth she was encouraging him. "Mulder, I don't want to know. Really. I just...don't you ever, just once, just for the hell of it, want to live a normal life?"

He rolled his head back and closing his eye replied "We tried that, Scully. It was normal, all right -- my lovely wife Laura came out of the bathroom looking like the Creature from the Black Lagoon and made me sleep on the goddamned couch."

Scully suppressed a smile at the memory. "Normal life, Mulder, not suburbia."

"I'm sitting in my partner's apartment with my feet up, coffee in hand, good meal, warm fire, pleasant company, all of which followed a coupla hours hitting a baseball. What's abnormal about that?"

He heard her quiet sigh and grinned in victory, a little surprised, but more than gratified to feel her warm presence. Scully normally sat in the armchair, or on the floor while they worked, ate, or discussed the finer details of some case. Tonight, however was different.

Tonight he had unabashedly romanced her. Oh, it was not overt, nothing they couldn't walk away from with just a smile, a pleasant memory and an affirmation of friendship.

That she invited him for a takeout dinner was a natural extension of the evening. The partnership had been more than a little strained since the Consortium members were killed. He'd worked hard, in his own peculiar way, to restore the easy camaraderie they once held. Tonight had been the culmination of that.

And instinct told him, perhaps something more.

He swallowed a little nervously, feeling somewhat like a kid on his first date. Did he want to do this, to risk so much? But where was the risk, really? Just an overture that could easily be interpreted as a tender moment between friends, nothing more.

Nothing more.

Shit, who was he fooling? They'd played around this for months, ever since that fucking little bee. The horrific consequences brought home what a mistake that might have been. Like so many nights since, it would have been for the wrong reasons.

But it would have been just a kiss.

Yeah, right. Would six years in the making have allowed him to leave it at that? Who the hell was he kidding?

Since then, the moments that might have presented themselves were somehow wrong, off kilter for one or both of them. At least he could no longer castigate himself for cowardliness, he *had* told her he loved her. He could remain comfortable in this warm, deep and loving friendship forever. Why risk all for mere lust?

Scully said "You're right, Mulder. It was a good night, I enjoyed it and I'm going to say thank you, now, because tomorrow my arms will curse you."

"You just need more practice, Scully."

"What are you suggesting, Mulder? That we make it a regular...event?" She'd almost said date, but caught herself in time.

"Can't afford it, Scully, not at ten bucks an hour to shag balls!"

"Cheapskate, it was only two hours."

"Yeah but if we make it weekly, that's twenty bucks a week, eighty a month, over a thousand a..."

"Okay, okay, okay... I could solo next time. You pitch and give the kid, and your wallet, a break."

Mulder opened his eyes and reached for his coffee. "I'm not sure you're ready for that, Scully."

"Oh?" Her eyebrow arched again.

"Nope," Mulder sipped from his mug then put it back on the table. He leaned back and placing one arm across the couch behind her, turned slightly to face his partner.

Scully felt a sudden rush of nervousness. His warmth and closeness were considerably less noticeable than the hours spent batting. But that situation had been entirely different. His proximity then was in the guise of coaching.

Now however, it was in the privacy of her apartment, accompanied by a warm fire and delicious meal.

Not a drop of alcohol had been consumed, but Scully felt heady from the evening's sensory experiences. Having a man hold her so closely, in an intimate embrace far more deliberate and provocative than any dance, was unsettling, despite its supposed platonic nature. After Jack, Scully had imposed on herself an unshakeable rule about interoffice relationships. And she'd wrapped that rule around her heart and hormones like a defensive wall after she'd taken one look at her new partner all those years ago.

Her mind flicked back to that fateful meeting in Blevins'

office. She'd immediately sought out the basement to meet the famous Spooky Mulder. Years of sublimating her emotions, of working twice as hard as her male counterparts to cut through the inherent chauvinism of her chosen profession, had finally paid off. She descended the stairs with ego riding high. Her superiors recognized her professionalism and meticulous skills. She, Dana Scully, had been assigned to pull the FBI's legendary black sheep back into the fold.

It would be a pushover. Spooky might have a doctorate in psychology from one of the finest institutions in the world, but he now practiced pseudoscience at best. Her _real_ science would walk all over him.

Error number one.

Dazzled by self congratulations, Scully hadn't thought to check Mulder's file before meeting him. From all she'd heard at Quantico and from reading his Monty Props monograph, Scully expected a nerdy, self-centered, pastyfaced slob. Not that FBI agents were slobs -- quite the contrary. But the profilers she'd seen emerging from the bomb shelter at Quantico were so invested in their work, personal appearances fell by the wayside. And Mulder, ranked the penultimate profiler, must surely be the worst.

Scully envisaged a cheap crumpled suit, with dandruff, bad posture, possibly a slight paunch from inactivity, and bad breath.

Error number two.

Big time.

She clearly recalled her first thought as he turned his youthful face up and held out his hand.

It went something like, *Oh shit, he's drop dead gorgeous.*

The only sign of nerdishness were the glasses, but the lucky bastard was one of those exceptional people whose spectacles somehow conspired with an overly large nose to make him even sexier. It didn't help that expensive clothes hung off his sleek, graceful body as if they'd been tailormade. Nor did it help that he carried the subtle smell of an equally expensive, very masculine cologne.

Scully retained a fixed smile on her face, all the while cursing herself for not being prepared. Attack, of course, was the best defense. When it was clear he'd made the effort to research her background, she immediately fell back on her intellectual achievements, figuring he would not have the scientific background to understand her dissertation.

Error number fucking three.

She'd ridden through that first meeting the same way she'd ridden through most of her career, by slamming walls around her heart and emotions and super-gluing the surface with a professional facade. Oh, it slipped a bit during their first case...

well, slipped a hell of a lot with her dropping her robe in his darkened room. But she recovered it and kept a damned tight hold of it ever since.

Mostly.

The passing years failed to immunize her against his physical beauty or quirky charm, so the walls had to be regularly replastered with unique Scully tools -- raised eyebrows, pursed lips and, *You don't seriously expect me to believes*. Yet through it all, she found herself adopting his habits of invading personal space, of taking comfort in his familiar, masculine smell, the feel of his hand on her back and regular, small doses of touching. Whenever it looked like getting too close, she double checked the defensive walls, bolted the door and withdrew with crossed arms.

Seven years later on a baseball field, as Mulder enveloped her small body with his beautiful, strong maleness and made whimsical observations an inch from her ear, Scully found herself as entranced as that first day in the basement.

And cushioning that powerful attraction lay seven extraordinary years of life, of respect and yes, love. Each pull back of the bat and sweeping, powerful stroke forward reminded her of the grace and strength in his streamlined body, of his familiar, slightly-sweaty masculine smell, of his rich voice, of how easily he could control her. Of how easy it had been for her to give up control.

Of how much she enjoyed giving up control.

To him.

The walls were looking decidedly battered, the locks and hinges disappearing with a hundred baseballs amongst the stars.

"No, Scully, I'm not so sure you should go solo just yet."

He leaned back and closed his eyes again.

"Scared I might hit you in the head with a ball?"

"No...no, it's just that you need to flow into it a bit more. You're still a little stiff, you need to feel what my body does, then go with it."

Scully almost choked on her coffee. Oh she'd felt what his body did all right. No doubt he was peripherally aware of it too, so he'd kept his hips back, but occasional contact was unavoidable. She'd dismissed it as a natural, biological afterthought due to their proximity. It certainly wasn't the first time she'd noticed one of his erections. The way they lived, it was unavoidable. He was a healthy male, after all, and gentleman that he was, took pains to hide them. Tonight was different only in that he had been holding her.

Still, for all the potential suggestiveness, it was vague, a shadow feeling only, exactly like his verbal double entendres.

Tired of being alone -- and drunk on the emotional warmth of the night -- her subconscious flirted, "Oh it felt pretty stiff to me."

Mulder's eyes shot open and his jaw slackened.

"The bat Mulder, talkin' about the bat." Scully hid her grin in her mug, shocked at her own riposte. But she also delighted in his bland, panicked look. For years she'd ignored his insinuations; it felt damned good getting in one herself.

Flabbergasted was not a word Mulder previously considered attributable to him. Still, he prided himself on a quick recovery. Turning to watch her face he asked "So...you don't think you need coaching, like that, anymore?"

"I wouldn't say that."

The familiar rules had been bent. How far could he go before Dana backed away and Scully came out to pitch, sending him home before he'd reached first base?

"I suppose it depends on whether you liked it or not." He replied, waiting for the retreat.

Scully turned her face to his and replied in low pitch, "I liked it."

Could she really be flirting as dangerously with the subtext as him? But Scully didn't flirt, that was the rule. His partner never allowed the conversation to continue with implied double meanings...

Mulder found himself unable to resist reaching across and tucking a wayward lock of hair behind her ear. Nothing unplatonic about that, he'd done it before.

It crossed his mind that he might soon be wearing the contents of the mug she held in her lap and suddenly, the easy way out seemed preferable. Sexual rejection he could handle, but not a personal rebuff. Go home, he thought, pull out a video and relax.

Desire warred with the fear of losing her. This could be no one night stand, nor a short fling. This was far more complicated.

His hand strayed from her hair and cupped her cheek. He'd done that before, too. That was okay...No, no it wasn't.

His nostrils dilated and breathing quickened while his eyes darkened to an emerald green, leaving hers only long enough to watch her lips part in silent acceptance of the anticipated kiss.

Scully felt her heartbeat race as she watched his face descend. She had not planned this, had not really believed it would happen after almost seven years of determined masonry around her heart. As his lips grazed hers in chaste overture, she felt every one of those years as arousal suddenly explode through her body, knocking the last vestiges of the walls asunder. He pulled back waiting for her to turn her head away and ascribe the kiss to a gesture of friendship, of, 'Goodnight Mulder it's time you left.' But where his fingers cupped the edge of her jaw, he felt her racing pulse. Her breath was already coming in short pants and her cheeks began to flush. Her eyes remained fixed on his lips and her tongue flickered out to taste where he had been.

Good God, she wanted this as much as he did! Delighted and instantly aroused, he lowered his lips to fulfill a promise made in his hallway months before.

A loud knocking on the apartment door startled them both.

Adrenaline rushed through Scully. She felt suddenly embarrassed, as if her father had caught her necking on the couch. Throwing her head back she closed her eyes for a moment to recover. Mulder pulled away and rolled his eyes in frustration.

Shit!

"Expecting someone?" He asked as Scully sat forward and stood.

His partner shook her head, unable to meet his eyes. She deposited her cup on the table and moved to the door.

Mulder's incipient erection vanished in anticipation of trouble. He fervently wished he'd brought his weapon.

Eyeing Scully's gun on the dining table, he strode across and snatched it up, grumbling about bees and fucking persons from Porlock.

Scully peered through the peephole in her door.

"It's Skinner!" Surprise mixed with confusion in the lilt of her voice.

Mulder nodded but with gun in hand moved to the shadows by the wall. Maybe it was Skinner, but then again... Anyone coming into the room would not immediately notice him.

Scully opened the door, "Good evening, sir."

"Agent Scully, my apologies for coming by unannounced."

"Come in." Scully motioned for Skinner to enter.

"I hope I'm not interrupting anything..." A.D. Skinner's eyes automatically cornered the apartment until they arrested on Mulder.

"No sir," replied Scully "Agent Mulder and I were just going over a few files."

Scully gestured for their boss to sit. Mulder replaced the gun in its holster on the table and returned to the living room.

"Agent Mulder." Skinner nodded in recognition of the younger man's precaution. It paid for these two to be careful.

"Would you like some coffee, sir? It's just brewed."

Skinner's detective eyes took in the scene, automatically cataloguing the visible evidence of half filled coffee mugs and scattered files. How many of his other agents spent Saturday nights going over case files? He sighed, contemplating their almost pathological work ethic and wishing that just once, they'd take time out to go see a game, or a movie or something.

He subconsciously took for granted that whatever they did, it would be together.

Skinner shook his head and sighed heavily, not wanting to do this, but having no choice. "No thanks, I won't stay long. I'll get right to the point. No doubt you are aware of the Seattle Line killings?"

Scully froze and out of the corner of his eye, Skinner saw Mulder's eyes close in resignation. Even buried in the basement, in their own unique world of horrors, they could not have missed what had become the FBI's worst nightmare.

Skinner clenched his fists, hating himself, his job and the fucking animal that created this situation. The only saving grace was that he was able do this person and not by phone, as urgency had dictated.

He continued, "I've just come from dinner at Rube's with the director and attorney general."

That explained why Skinner dropped by instead of calling, Scully thought.

"I tried calling you," Skinner glanced at Mulder "But there was no answer."

Mulder shrugged, he was not obliged to carry his cell phone when off duty, that's what voice mail was for.

Knowing what was next though, he started to feel nauseous.

Ten years. Ten fucking years...and it had finally caught up with him. Jesus he'd been a fool to think they would have left it alone. "I left it at home."

"No need to apologize Agent, the bureau does not expect you to be on twenty-four hour call...until now."

Scully raised her eyebrow, not seriously believing what instinct told her was coming. Her eyes glanced down to a thick, clear plastic case Skinner held in one hand.

"Two more... bodies were found yesterday."

"Shit, he's escalating fast now," Mulder interrupted.

"Not necessarily. One of them was about a month old.

Street kid found behind a deserted farm house." Skinner nodded. "But the press is having a field day over the lack of progress on this one. We've assigned more than a dozen agents from Washington, as well as the Seattle office and outlying field offices, making up a team that now exceeds twenty agents. That includes a full time profiler."

Mulder looked up. FBI profilers rarely worked a single case. They were generally loaded with dozens of unsolved or difficult cases and backlogged for months, even years. Once a profile was written, it became part of a vast range of tools used to identify and capture a suspect. For a profiler to be assigned an ongoing single case was unusual.

Except, of course, when it was him. But then that wasn't profiling it was...

"...Who's now been returned to Quantico. The attorney general made it very clear to the director..."

Mulder nodded stiffly and held up his hand. No need to make Skinner connect the dots. The services of Spooky Mulder had been demanded, regardless of the psychiatric notation in his jacket, the 'official' cover, regardless of the promise the director himself made a decade ago.

It didn't matter what effect it had on him or God help them, anyone around him. He was one man, and it was one case, not a shit load. His sanity could be easily sacrificed to save who knew how many children?

What did it matter? He had nothing else to lose... From what he understood, they had it all backwards anyway, which explained why they were no closer to finding the UNSUB unknown subject -- than when this particularly grisly campaign of terror began eighteen months previously.

Fox Mulder's sanity was more than a fair trade.

Pity, he'd gotten kinda fond of the woman that provided it.

Mulder rolled his head back and breathed deeply. In the background he could hear Scully come to the same conclusion, although she had no idea of what that conclusion _really_ involved, and tersely voice her arguments to Skinner.

Snatches of conversation entered his peripheral hearing. As her arguments evolved into a tirade he wanted to hug her for her loyalty. She knew virtually nothing about his profiling years. He'd made damned certain that aspect of his life had been kept well and truly sealed. No doubt Skinner had been privy to parts of it, and a few in the BSU knew, but the others were dead.

Or insane.

Scully had seen a glimpse, enough to put the fear of God in her.

As well it should.

"Dammit sir, you know what this does to him. You _know_ what the evaluation was after the Mostow case. Neither the FBI nor the Justice Department have the right to destroy a man in the pursuit of justice, no matter how righteous the cause!"

"I'm sorry, Agent Scully, Mulder still works for the FBI and his expertise..."

"Fuck expertise!" Scully spat out.

Skinner almost gaped at her expletive. Scully defending Mulder was normal. Although it was unusual for her to argue to this length, Skinner realized he was the one on foreign ground. They were not in his office like wayward school children, he had come to them, their territory in their time. But that aside, for Scully to swear like that meant...Then it hit Skinner and he almost blinked in surprise. Had he interrupted something other than case files and coffee?

Scully in pit bull mode was a force to be reckoned with, but Skinner had no choice. God, if this little firebrand in front of him had any real idea of what Fox Mulder might become, he wouldn't put it past her to go down to Rube's right then and shove a gun at the attorney general's head.

"Agent Scully, " he snapped back, jamming his fists in his pocket in anger at the devil's advocate role thrust upon him, "You are way out of line. I'll take that statement as being off the record. You are in no position..."

Scully opened her mouth to interrupt, but Skinner used the full force of his marine corps background to glare at his subordinate. Hardening his voice he continued, "You are in no position to pass comment, *Agent* Scully. Your expertise would be appreciated and you are requested to accompany Agent Mulder to Seattle..."

"No," Mulder spoke for the first time.

Both Scully and Skinner stared at him.

"Scully, you don't need to be part of this." He dreaded going into the fray alone, but terror overwhelmed dread.

Terror for what it would do to their partnership, their friendship and whatever small spark of something that might have been ignited that night. It would all be snuffed out if she tried to accompany him into the festering pit of madness he must become in order to find this killer.

He almost laughed in self derision. Who the hell did he think he'd been fooling? He knew what he was, what evil waited to take over his body, and he had been fool enough to think he could maintain something resembling a normal relationship with a woman. With Scully. Christ how many times did he have to make _that_ mistake before he got it through his stupid skull?

Fuck, that had been close.

He looked up at Skinner, wanting to thank the man for his timing. Ten seconds later...He turned to Scully, vestigially hoping she could be kept free of this.

"You shouldn't be part of it. You can't be part of it."

His voice dropped and cracked in desperation as he spoke to her. Please, God, he prayed to a deity he could never believe in, just let her be my partner, nothing more now, it could never be and he _knew_ that and...oh fuck I will never again succumb to that hubris but please, dear God, let me come back to her just as a partner, nothing more, I promise, but please don't take that from me.

The look in her eyes made him cringe. He could see the words as plainly as if they had been spoken, "Ditching me again, huh Mulder?"

Ignoring Skinner, he reached for Scully and took her hand in his.

"What you saw happen to me in the Mostow case was nothing, _nothing_ compared to what this case might do. I have to draw the line again, Scully. You have _no_ idea what I become during a case like this. And there is _nothing_ you can do to stop or help me. You'll only get in the way and get yourself hurt, or inadvertently hurt me. I don't want you part of that, I don't want you to be subjected..."

Scully ripped her hand from his, anger shredding the intimacy that had so recently filled the room. She lifted her eyebrow in controlled fury "Mulder, I am an FBI agent, not a child to be coddled. You are my partner, I am your partner. We look out for each other, for better or worse."

Skinner almost looked away. Until tonight he occasionally wondered if these two young agents took the understandable solace of each other's beds. But for all their extraordinary...

no, downright uncanny connection, he did not believe they were sexually involved. Theirs was an intimacy of spirit that surmounted any physical coupling. That they loved each other was beyond question. He ground his teeth in the bitter realization that might have changed if he had not come here tonight.

Fuck, of all the lousy timing.

Then again, knowing the contents of Mulder's sealed file, maybe it *was* for the best.

He looked at the two younger agents in sympathy. Christ, they had taken on so much in their young lives. Taken on more than he'd ever dared and now he was about to ruthlessly employ their unique bond. The director had been clear. They no longer had Patterson to monitor Mulder. This way was better -- use Scully to ground him instead. Long enough, the director said, to solve this case. Just keep the boy from falling too deeply into his unique brand of insanity long enough to catch this killer. Mulder could be pensioned off, if necessary. The look on the director's face added the unspoken alternative...or, if he never returned from his unique hell, have him committed to a psychiatric hospital like Patterson.

"Agent Scully," Skinner said, wanting to get this over with as fast as possible, "has been assigned to this case by the director himself. There's a flight out at midnight, Agents. Please be on it. There are zip disks in here, everything we have to date."

He handed the heavy case to Mulder while Scully scowled, her arms crossed in frustrated anger. The only saving grace, as far as she was concerned, was that she would accompany Mulder.

Of all the betrayals within the FBI, of all the times she had felt victimized by such men who walked those so called hallowed halls with impunity, this, she thought was the most devious and inhumane betrayal of all. They would use Mulder, squeezing every drop of sanity from him, then discard him when it was over. Her gut roiled and she was suddenly hit with a wave of nausea. This was how they would destroy him and the X-files, by righteously packaging it in the advancement of law and order. In the end, they would take the accolades of an adoring press and grateful public while Mulder was tossed aside as carelessly as one of his sunflower seed husks.

Skinner was right. If she knew what really happened to Mulder on these cases, she might just have taken a gun to the attorney general's head.

But recalling the sight of anguished parents on television and the gruesome crime scene photos, her anger deflated.

One mother had suicided.

She glanced up at Mulder. He was watching her with profound sadness and regret for what might have been, and she understood. He could no more turn his back on this than abandon his search for Samantha. This was what they did.

This was why they joined the FBI -- to make a difference, to put animals like this down.

Scully nodded almost imperceptibly to Skinner, accepting their fate. And it was _their_ fate. She'd make damned certain Mulder came out of this intact, even if it meant following him to hell and dragging him back, kicking and screaming and cussing her as she spat in the eye of the devil himself. No, they would not get Mulder, she'd make that her personal campaign.

Skinner nodded and left abruptly, suddenly in great need of a drink to wash the bitter taste of betrayal from his mouth. He wondered if the director felt the same need.

Maybe they could get plastered together.

Mulder bit his lower lip and sighed. Looking down, he scratched his head absently and said, "I better get going.

I've got a feeling this is not going to go down fast.

There's a lot about this case that doesn't add up."

"You mean you've been following it?" Scully replied with a frown.

"Sorta...There's a lot more in this than what I've seen."

He gestured to the plastic folder. "By the time I get through it, something may come to light."

He moved to go, collecting his jacket and keys from the table. Scully followed, standing close to him as he opened the door a few inches. He looked down at her scowling face and grinned.

"Hey," he pulled her chin up to look at him.

"Scully...look," she saw pain and regret cross his face.

"What you saw in the Mostow case was, _nothing_ like this...I...I _become_ the killer...You can't, under any circumstances, interfere with that process or you destroy it. I must become that evil and no partnership will survive the things I... _appear_ to do and say to you once I'm gone ..."

Scully cut him off with her fingers to his lips, "You think that after all this time I'm going to leave you now?

Mulder, I'm your _partner_."

Mulder let out an anguished sigh. His eyes told her what his lips struggled to say.

Scully's own mouth curled fractionally and the scowl left her face, marveling at how so much affection and love could be conveyed in his hazel eyes.

Mulder leaned down, hesitant at first, then with more confidence to complete their aborted kiss. Things would go to hell in a handbasket over the next few days. He wanted to say goodbye -- and yes, it would be goodbye, to her with just one kiss. It would be their first, and last, but at least he would have that to carry into the long dark, as he stood by and watched the evil take his body and....

His lips touched hers, they shared a second of an intimacy long desired but never dared. But even that was not to be.

The door moved slightly with the impact of a soft knock.

Mulder instantly reached for his gun with his right hand as he jerked the door open with his left. He again cursed his absent weapon, but the thought ended abruptly when he realized Skinner had returned.

The A.D. sighed deeply and pocketed his cell phone. "The director. He's decided to fly the latest victims to Quantico on a charter flight. Remains should be here by morning.

Agent Scully, I want you to do the autopsies before flying to Seattle on Monday. Mulder, you better get moving, your flight's still on for tonight."

"But, sir," Scully objected, seeing this as an all too convenient excuse for separating them.

"No buts, Agent Scully, there's no question of you joining Mulder in the next day or two, but I want you to do these autopsies at Quantico. There are some issues regarding the Seattle morgue, and the lab work can be done here faster. I trust you might, just might, pick up something the Seattle M.E. overlooked. And flying the bodies to D.C. gives a certain impression to the media. The political pressure surrounding this case has reached boiling point."

"So you need a PR exercise." Mulder was too emotionally exhausted to offer more than a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

"Yes Agent Mulder, but you of all people realize how we can also use the media to benefit this case when we get something more to go on."

Mulder's posture conceded the point, pleased that Scully was forced to remain behind. With any luck, circumstances would conspire to keep her in D.C. He glanced at his partner, a regretful look in his eyes as he nodded goodnight.

"I'll e-mail you the report." Scully said.

Mulder nodded and turned to leave with Skinner. He wished he'd been able to get a good night's sleep before entering this case because sure as hell there would be little of that in the following weeks. He mentally sighed. It had crossed his mind not half hour before that he might not be getting much sleep that night anyway. Still, better that it had never happened. Despite wishful thinking that Scully would get stuck in D.C., he knew damned well they'd exploit her ability to ground him. That it would destroy their relationship was of no consequence in the face of the waiting evil.

"Agent Mulder," Skinner spoke softly as they exited the building. Mulder stopped and turned to face his superior.

Skinner was moving his jaw back and forth, clearly incensed with the unfolding events that had brought him there.

"It's all right, sir, something like this was bound to happen one day. I'm honestly not concerned about coming out of it," he lied easily "That's never been an issue with me, although it seems to bother everyone else. But if you have any sway whatsoever, keep Scully in Washington. Use the PR angle to have future victims flown back here, continue to assign her the autopsies and lab work."

Skinner shook his head abruptly. "The director himself ordered Agent Scully to accompany you. Mulder, I know, I _know_ what your sealed file contains. I know the real reason they called you Spooky was not because of this ability to crawl through the minds of these animals...

of non sequiturs, but because of... this..." Skinner rolled his eyes, unwilling to use the word but knowing there was no other "This damned... psychic ability of yours to link directly to the killer's actions, to mirror what he does.

And that's why the director wants Scully there. To try and keep you sane long enough...fuck it!" Skinner turned abruptly from the younger agent. Mulder could actually hear the man gnashing his teeth and for a moment, sympathized with Skinner's position.

"Sir, do you understand, really understand what the contents of that file on me means?"

Skinner nodded glumly.

"Then you know why Agent Scully should not be exposed to this. Look sir, she's going to hinder me at every turn.

It's possible, just possible I can run a normal profile on this bastard without having to let it take control. But if that doesn't work...I have not...I'm not _there_ anymore.

I have _no_ control over things once it begins and no one, absolutely no one can get in its way. Scully will never accept the truth. Even if...when I come back, when I come out of it, she'll be incapable of believing it, of resolving it in her mind. And you know, you damned well *know* what that will do to ourpartnership!" Mulder kept his voice low, but the bitternesson his face could not be denied. "Dammit, I'm tempted to tell you all to go shove it, make my cooperation on this conditional that Scully stays in D.C. Fuck it, why not? What choices do you have...my job?

Okay you can shove your job and my damned badge up your..."

But he stopped himself and wrapping his arms around his body, lowered his head and shook it from side to side, bitter tears lying unshed behind closed eyes.

Skinner stood stony-faced. A part of him wanted to reach out and comfort the man before him in his arms, to hold him like a lost and frightened child. Instead he swallowed and said, "Y'know I'm surprised at you Mulder. I thought you trusted and respected your partner more than that. Of all the people I've ever known, she's probably the best equipped to handle this, both professionally and personally. She's tough, Mulder and she has more loyalty to you that your sorry ass deserves. Don't underestimate her."

Mulder shook his head. Skinner didn't understand, how could he? How could he know what it was like to see the face of a woman after...He opened his eyes to blind himself to the memory. He had no choice, he could no more turn his back on this than if Samantha had called his name. And the director knew that, damn the man to hell. Shit, what did it matter, it was just his body after all. Just let it use him and he could reclaim it afterwards.

Yeah, right.

"Then sir, if you can't keep Scully away, at least arm her with what she needs, to protect herself." He didn't need to complete the sentence, "from me."

Skinner stared at his subordinate "There was never any mention that you -- it -- might endanger those nearby.

Are you concerned that might happen?"

Mulder closed his eyes and sighed. Skinner couldn't understand, no-one could, not until they'd seen it for themselves. Shit *he* didn't undertand except that he had to watch the whole fucking process like some sick movie while _he_ sat on the side lines and waited for it to be over. "If she doesn't know, she may try to intervene. If she does that, she may inadvertently get in the way and be hurt by it. Or it may incorporate her into what's happening." His face paled at the thought.

Skinner stared at the younger man for a moment, realizing the implications. But there could be no ambiguity in this. Not this, not the seals on those files. "Agent Mulder, are you requesting your sealed files be made available to Agent Scully?"

"If you don't, she'll have no idea how to deal with this.

Jesus, sir, she's a doctor and the first thing she's gonna try is medication and I can't have that! It will just make things worse. She needs to know before it takes over, not after. She still won't believe it, of course, but, it should at least make her back off and keep out of the way."

Skinner closed his eyes and nodded. "All right, Agent Mulder. I'll have the files available and at the first sign, I'll make sure Agent Scully sees them."

No matter what he'd said, Skinner also feared this would destroy their partnership. And no small part of him loathed himself with what this might subject Scully to. Jesus Christ, she deserved better!

Skinner had been frankly stunned when he learned the truth about Mulder. But he believed it, to the core of his soul he knew it was true. Christ it explained so much. And the director believed it too, for he had suffered a near death experience and recognised the nature of the unquantifiable. To cap it off, they had actual physical proof...although Scully would question proof of _what_?

Like Skinner, the director would never look beyond his own brief paranormal experience, but Mulder... It was not Skinner alone who made decisions about the Xfiles. The director himself pulled many strings to have them opened, and reopened simply because of that file.

General policy might treat the Spooky Division with contempt, and Mulder had deservedly been thrown into purgatory on occasion. But despite the roller coaster ride, the X-files were still operational and Mulder remained at the helm. Because the director himself believed. Because that smoking bastard knew. In fact it was why Mulder had never been terminated a dozen times by the old consortium.

Because of this...psychic talent that tore him apart.

Fucking cancer man had said it more than once. One day they would need this talent, need it badly. So they allowed him to live, allowed his indulgence. But none of them were as skeptical as Scully. Fuck, she would never believe.

Skinner wondered if there would be anyone left on board when all this was over.

Still, there was one chance. Mulder was also a paramount profiler. Maybe that would be sufficient, maybe he would not have to give up his soul, and body to the devil.

Maybe.

Mulder changed tacks, interrupting Skinner's thoughts "Sir, how will the current team feel about being me being assigned to the case at this late date?"

"The director has spoken to ASAC Busche in Seattle. To be frank, right now the stagnation is so bad it stinks. There are going to be quite a few shakeups over the next week.

I'm heading up the case myself once I clear things here, probably Tuesday. Make no mistake, Agent Mulder, the political pressure on this one is...extreme. The director has made it clear to Busche that you and your directives are to be acted upon. They're so desperate they'll listen to any theory, no matter how..."

"Spooky?" Mulder smiled in self deprecation.

Skinner looked at the younger man knowingly and added, "With little forensic evidence and the...obscene M.O. to go on, the profiles have been their only real tool. That gives your role absolute priority. You're being assigned two field agents to do the dog work, including day to day BS like expense accounts and formatting presentations and reports. If you have trouble, and I mean any trouble whatsoever with any agent respecting your authority on this matter, you are to report it to me immediately. If I am unavailable for any reason, you are to report to the director himself. I'm not having interoffice politics and petty rivalries running this show. At the same time, Mulder, that's not a carte blanche to tick off everyone.

We've only got so many agents in the FBI... Now get moving, time's awasting."


	3. Chapter 2

**Sunday - Day 2**

**Situation Room**

**Central Hotel, Seattle**

**6:50 a.m.**

"You're putting me on! Spooky fucking Mulder, that sanctimonious son of a bitch? Your putting him in _control_??!! What have they got in D.C., shit for brains?"

"Forenzzi, sit down before you have an aneurysm." Busche barely raised his voice to the agents around him, but this time he had to raise his voice to get the much bigger man's attention.

"But you don't understand, that cowardly little faggot..."

"Forenzzi, shut the fuck up! That's an order!" Busche finally shouted.

Forenzzi's eye twitched uncontrollably. The tendons on his neck stood out and his hands clenched. Busche glared at him until he sat, then staring out at the other twenty or so agents in the room continued. "The director himself has come in on this one. As you are aware, the bottom-feeding press has gone to town over this, forcing the attorney general's hand. The long and short of it means an entire revamping of teams and procedures. An assistant director is coming in to take over, freeing me up to return to normal duties."

The protests and sounds of shock from around the room pacified Busche's sorely bruised ego. He let the men and women under him continue for a few moments before resuming.

"To be frank, I'm not sorry. This case is a bitch and the only way I can see any progress being made at this stage is to take a step back. That is _not_ a reflection on the time and effort you people have put in. But political pressure requires something, anything to shake things up.

For many of you, it means going home to families you haven't seen in weeks, sometimes months.

"Look, I know how this makes you feel, it's the worst kind of crap for an agent to be ordered away from an ongoing case, but I want you all to know I've never worked with a finer bunch of people. You've put your hearts and souls into this and the director assured me no one in this room is being demoted in any way. Some of you will be effectively promoted while others, mainly in technical areas, will stay on. A.D. Skinner coming in frees me to get back to my job and means you can now report to someone who can concentrate on this case to the exclusion of everything else. All in all, I think it's a good thing."

There was silence for a few minutes while the agents digested this. Few of them had been blind to its inevitability, but it still tasted like shit, no matter how it was fed to them.

"So where does this guy Mulder fit in?" Wilson, a recently arrived agent asked.

"Agent Fox Mulder was a top notch profiler in the BSU about ten years back. He left to work with the VCU then transferred to a specialty unit called the X-Files eight years ago. He still does consultant profiling and the director himself appointed Mulder to come in on this one."

Busche glared at Forenzzi, defying him to interrupt. "I know a lot of you have heard he has a reputation for...unusual techniques, but the fact is, he gets results, fast."

Forenzzi's face darkened as he held his temper in check.

"I've never met the man personally but I believe he's a little...anti-social." Busche watched Forenzzi's mouth open and he added quickly "However, I don't give a fuck if the guy picks his nose at the dinner table or scratches his ass in front of the director, he's probably no worse than any other profiler once they get into a swing. Let's face it, all those Behavioral guys are a bit off, anyway, no offense, West."

A female agent in the back continued to clean her nails without bothering to look up. She was accustomed to much worse.

Busche continued, "For those of you staying, I suggest you keep out of his way and let him get on with it."

Forenzzi clenched his jaw and said in controlled fury, "Sir, with all due respect I think it is unwise to allow Mulder on this case without forewarning the people who stay on."

Busche sighed, "Agent Forenzzi, I will not have innuendo and gossip coloring anyone's attitude to an incoming agent."

"With all due respect, sir, this is neither innuendo or gossip. It's a little known fact that Mulder has been allowed to remain in the FBI solely because of his...talents." Forenzzi all but spat the word out. "I'm not denying he gets results, sir. However, I've seen Mulder in the field and it would be criminally... irresponsible not to warn those around him of his...predilections."

Busche wavered. He could not prevent the inevitable gossip. Despite it flying in the face of accepted protocol he tiredly resigned himself to allowing Forenzzi his piece.

At least by giving him leave to speak now, in front of Busche, it might temper the man's statements. Busche himself had heard outrageous flights of fancy surrounding so called Spooky Mulder. He had only checked the rogue agent's file briefly and it seemed some of those fanciful stories were grounded in fact. Maybe Forenzzi had a point.

Forewarning some of these greener agents might not be a bad thing.

"All right, Forenzzi, spit it out, but stick to facts, not opinions."

Forenzzi was no fool, he'd spent too many days in court not to have honed his testimony to a fine degree. Yes, sir just stick to the facts, totally unlike the psychobabble garbage that came out of the BSU.

Before he could speak, West piped up, "With all due respect, sir, this is ethically questionable." But then kicked herself at the look on Forenzzi's face. He was a local agent and longstanding friend of Busche. Both of them were straight down the line thinkers who secretly believed women should remain barefoot and pregnant.

Forenzzi replied "Well maybe you think so, Agent West, but I think him coming on this case is highly questionable and if you let me speak, you'll understand why. If that's acceptable to you *Agent* West?"

Sally West returned to cleaning her nails. What the hell, let the moron say his piece.

Forenzzi took a few deep breaths to relax and began, "Agent Fox Mulder has a degree in forensic psychology from Oxford. He's considered a genius, with scores right off some scales, I.Q. Sanford-Binnet, the whole lot. He graduated top of his class at Quantico and started off straight under Patterson in BSU, no time out in field offices, which is pretty damned weird in itself."

The mention of Patterson raised a few eyebrows around the room. Most of them had heard of Spooky Mulder and some pretty wild, off the planet -- literally -- tales. Patterson, however, was a legend who'd ended up locked away with the criminally insane after murdering his own partner.

Not a good thing.

"He stayed with Patterson three years. I can't vouch for everything the old man did to him, but I saw enough.

Patterson had him on a short leash, like a trained dog.

"Now, we all know how profilers work. But Mulder was different. Patterson had him on the worst cases, but only the current ones, never old ones. He'd let him loose down the hole like a ferret. And Mulder came up with the rat, every single fucking time. The moment he poked his head out, they had him on drugs to chill him out and shoved him on a plane to the next ugly fuck. It wasn't pretty and I'm not denying Patterson used him, nor am I denying he was good.

But it was weird, too fucking weird. Sent shivers down the spine of even hardened case workers.

"Then one day I saw why. Patterson wasn't around and Mulder lost the plot entirely. Hared out and went completely psycho, acting out what the killer did right down to the finest detail, and I do mean finest detail. Patterson showed up and went apeshit at us and hussled us outa there till it was over. But we all knew, Mulder should have been retired on medical disability and locked away permanently, but we were told to shut up and say nothing. Next thing he's back on the job and leash in hand, Patterson personally starts dragging his ass to the next shit fight, with a psychiatrist in tow to keep Mulder in line. His own personal fucking shrink! And they still let him carry a gun!

"Three years of this then one day, the psychiatrist gets killed and right out of the blue, Mulder tells Patterson to shove it and moves over to VCU. Without Patterson or his shrink, Mulder was just some creeped-out kid that shoulda been locked up. I felt kinda sorry for him at first but then he blew it and an agent ended up dead. The dead man was my brother in law, so I took more than a passing interest.

"Okay, he was cleared of that but the guy's record since then speaks for itself. His current partner disappeared for three months after a hostage situation Mulder fucked up.

According to him she was abducted by aliens. And that more or less set the stage thereafter that everything is a fucking alien conspiracy, that we're secretly being invaded by little green men and that the government is in on it.

"He's had a gun at his partner's head at least three times, in fact she had to shoot him once when he lost it entirely. He's been committed at least once and spent more time in hospital than most of the guys in VCU put together, except maybe his partner. Okay, we all know the risks, but this is one boy it ain't healthy being around. He leaves a fucking comet-sized trail of dead or missing in his wake.

He had a child killer removed from prison on his authority, _lost_ him, then shot the bastard in the head while he held a kid at gunpoint. Mulder himself stabbed a kid through the heart with a fucking stake would you believe because, get this, he said the kid was a vampire. The family had the Agency up for over 400 million dollars. Somehow it was all hushed up and forgotten about.

"He's been busted a dozen times for illegal entry to government agencies and...aw, shit, the list goes on. And let's not forget he worked on the case where Patterson tipped the scales and now spends his days making daisy chains.

"Look, any one of these things could have got his ass busted, but he's protected, like a fucking rare species or something. That's all well and good, he's a commodity that might just be useful on this case, but he builds his profile on the dog work of others and creams the credit at the end. He puts the lives of those around him in danger and he's a faggot, possibly a p..."

West's eyes narrowed further and she snapped "That's enough! Sir, this is completely out of line. If you guys had any idea of the shit-filled minds we have to crawl through, you might understand how discussing motivations makes us sound as sick as these fucks."

"West, you're way wrong there. I know what you're talking about and I've seen what he does when he hares out, he gets off on..."

"Agent," Busche warned, "West is right, we've got enough crap on our plates without the media going to town about that, too. I can live with the FBI's turning a blind eye. And until Congress pushes the issue as it has in the military, let's just shut the fuck up."

West just gaped at Busche's ploy. She was so incensed she was literally struck dumb. Christ, she wondered, how many times has a judge had to direct a jury to disregard one of Busche's implied statements?

"Sir, the bottom line is, this guy's a sicko fruitcake. He's protected because he's useful, but he's damned dangerous to be around. All I'm saying is that everyone here should be warned that he ignores procedure and protocol and no one right up to the director, does more than slap his wrist, no matter who ends up dead or in the psycho ward. I'm just saying, steer clear of him...and watch your backs."

A couple of the agents snickered at the double meaning of Forenzzi's parting shot.

Busche stared long and hard at Forenzzi then said, "So I take it you wish to be transferred off this case? Until now, you were to remain, but if you can't work with Mulder then let's get it clear now."

Forenzzi clamped his jaw tight and realized he'd been suckered by Busche. What the hell was Busche's game?

Shit.

Fuck Mulder! Forenzzi figured for sure he'd be kept on to advise Skinner. Now he either had to suck it and wear it or ask for a transfer. And he knew what that meant on his jacket.

Shit. No way was pretty boy going to do that to him.

"No, sir, I can work with him. I have the advantage of knowing what he's like and when he's likely to go fruit loop. In fact I think someone should be assigned to keep an eye on him."

"I agree."

Forenzzi paled. Surely to God Busche wouldn't put _him_ on fucking _babysitting_ duty?!

"Agent West will be staying on to assist Agent Mulder.

Agent Smith has also been reassigned to...eh, act as a liaison. Between the two of you I'm sure you can keep his nose clean and his ass wiped. His flight's due to arrive in," Busche glanced at his watch, "an hour and a half.

Better get a move on before morning rush hour traffic."

West raised her eyebrows, pleasantly surprised, but Smith groaned. As they left the predawn meeting someone warned him to watch his butt. Agent Rob Smith groaned and rolled his eyes at West, wondering who they had ticked off to get this assignment.

* * *

**DAY 2 - Sunday**

**Central Hotel, Seattle**

**From the journal of Crystal Palmer**

Something happened tonight. A new one walked in. Didn't notice him at first because his coat was beige. The place was crowded because it was Sunday night buffet special.

Folks come from all over. Dad thinks it's because of the cheap, good food but I think a lot of them are law enforcement groupies. Sick bastards.

I was fixing up some network problems this morning. God, I hate Microsoft, give me an Apple-based system any day.

Anyway, I overheard them talking about a big shakeup. The press has been giving them plenty of lip and it seems D.C.

is sending a crack profiler out. One of them was saying this new guy was some sort of FBI legend, but I also heard a lot of cussing that he had been in and out of the psycho ward a few times. I found that hard to believe. They wouldn't have someone with a history of mental illness packing heat. I'm not prejudiced about that sort of thing.

People get sick in their minds and they get cured and that's no worse than being sick in your body. But the FBI, well they're not so politically correct. So I ignored it, but the other stuff sounded a little weird. I mean the only FBI legend I ever heard of was Hoover and look at him, a cross-dressing little Hitler. So no, I wasn't too keen on legends.

I was on the cash register at dinner and didn't notice him at first because of the coat. Then I caught a glimpse of him negotiating his way through the crowd of regulars, coldfaced FBI and fat locals gawking or stuffing their faces with the eat all you can buffet. I hadn't realized it until then but most of the agents looked...jaded. Even the way they walked, their posture, or perhaps it was this crappy case, whatever, but they seemed dull.

There were new arrivals today and they were like a breath of fresh air. Straight from D.C. Sharper dressers, just overall smoother. Then this new one... He moved with a predatory grace, like a sleek cat maneuvering through lesser mortals.

He turned my way and I nearly dropped Sally West's account.

Sally's an agent, too and she was nodding back in his direction, indicating his meal was on the running FBI tab.

I caught that much, but I couldn't keep my eyes off him.

When I finally looked away, I realized most of the women in the room had also noticed. To be honest, you'd have to be blind or lesbian not to.

I figured him for an investigative reporter. I mean none of the agents are ugly but this guy walked straight out of Esquire, but I asked Sally and she nodded, he was an agent too. At first, I thought new agents coming in would be a good thing, but I don't know...there's something about this guy.

I better clean out the upstairs rooms for these others. They'll be trickling in over the next few days.

I hope this legend turns up and puts an end to this crap.

* * *

**Day 2 - Sunday**

**Central Hotel - Seattle**

**8:53 p.m.**

_To: D_Scully@fbi.gov_

_From: F_Mulder@fbi.gov Sent: 2054 hrs local time_ So whatcha got for me G-woman? I called, but you weren't there and your cell phone is blitzy, probably this shitty weather. Jesus, it's cold here. Can you grab a couple of more sweaters and my black woollen overcoats for me? Bring your mittens and foot warmers.

M.

_To: F_Mulder@fbi.gov_

_From: D_Scully@fbi.gov Sent 2358 hrs local time_ I've attached a copy of the autopsy report. Mulder, I have not drawn this conclusion in my official summary, although the evidence is there. I realize this questions current thinking that only one killer is involved. But the angle of penetration varies in the entry wound of the thoracic cavity. I've examined these angles in half a dozen prior autopsy results and am working on the remainder, given the variation of height of the victims. I think you should also consider that the left hand was used in one case. There are also some other points not covered in prior autopsies that leave certain questions begging.

Weather has closed off Dulles for the next twenty-four hours. I should have covered most of the other reports by the time I get a flight out of here, probably on the same plane as Skinner. I'm going to get some sleep.

S.

* * *

**DAY 3 - Monday**

**Central Hotel, Seattle**

**From the journal of Crystal Palmer**

Well, that settles it, he's the spooky legendary genius from D.C. Now I think about it, it's obvious. There's something hooded about him, dark, brooding. I don't know, almost haunted looking in eyes that bore right into your soul. Too old for a face like that. Far too old. I'd only seen him from a distance and he looked mid-twenties, but when he came over to check the breakfast buffet I realized he was older, thirty something.

I was in all morning helping with their new equipment and one of them was talking about him. Stories that would make your hair stand on end. Seriously. It all started thirteen years or more back so he's at least mid-thirties, probably closer to forty. Many of the older guys here think he's full of it. Well, they said a great deal more and it was a lot less pleasant, but I think they kept their language down because of me. I'll give them that, they're always careful around me, when they notice me that is.

Despite that look in his eyes, he smiles a lot more than the others, at least to me. More life, and he'd charm the spots off a leopard. He has old Dulcie around his finger. I saw her brushing off his beige coat this morning, trying to get it clean and I spotted her taking some jeans and black boxers out of the wash today. She's never done that for anyone else, generally leaves the laundry to Greco.

I watched him today. His beauty is almost surrealistic.

It's at complete odds with what he is and what he does. One of them explained to me that profilers get inside the heads of killers and predict what they do. They actually try to think like the killer, feel the hype and sexual lust that drives them, so they can predict what they might do next, what sort of car they might drive, even if they'd wet the bed as a kid. What kind of sick person would chose to do that? How can he smile at all? As I said, surreal.

Then someone else told me he was gay. I was stunned, what a waste of something as beautiful as that. It hurt me, hearing that and looking at him. It just didn't seem fair and I found myself resenting him. I know why. I should be over it by now, but it just grabbed at me.

* * *

**DAY 4 - Tuesday**

He spoke to me this morning at breakfast. That's a relative term, of course. It's always breakfast around here. He'd been out running. It was 5:00 am in the goddammed morning and he had been running in the snow since 3:30 am. It wasn't the run, I ride most days even in this weather, but the early hour. Definitely one weird puppy.

Why would God put such an odd person inside such an inhumanly beautiful face?

But then he spoke. His voice was soft, like all of them, not too bass, lighter, like his body, a runner, a deer. Fox they called him. Mmm, he looked like a fox. I could see how he got that name, beautiful, sleek, agile. Even in sweats with mussed hair he looked like a model so I can see why they think he's gay. I have my own problems with that aspect. As politically incorrect as they may be, under the circumstances I think I'm entitled to my prejudices. But I'm aware of them, so I took pains to hide them.

He told me to call him Mulder. Most of the others want you to call them Agent or Doctor but not this one, just plain Mulder. He was friendy enough, but then I realized the whole time he was looking at me and making polite chitchat, he was analyzing me, asking me questions like I was some sort of witness. Like I was a bug under a microscope. I could see him categorizing me and filing away the answers in his brain and I remembered he was supposed to get inside the heads of killers. Could he read minds? Could he read my mind?

To think I've actually become accustomed to those photos and evidence bags. I really hate them being here. Now, with this guy I feel like a specimen that can be picked and prodded at, like my life is something this man might want to use to find something he needs. And damn him that he's gay and it brings all my own nightmares back to me.

Carrion eaters.

Shit.

He shouldn't be allowed to look like that, it's ridiculous.

* * *

_To: D_Scully@fbi.gov_

_From: F_Mulder@fbi.gov sent 1330_

Not a happy bunch of campers here Scully. They've given me a couple of keepers. You'd be proud of me, I waited 24 hours before ditching them. Interesting stuff on those autopsy results.

I'm considering pornography connections since I had already come to the conclusion we're looking at multiple killers.

I've felt evil before, Scully, but this is pervasive.

Did you get my stuff? If not, I'll buy some, there's still a blizzard going on and I've already saturated two coats. God knows when you'll get a flight in. At least it seems to have slowed the killers.

Scully, I think you should consider staying in Washington.

Future victims can be flown out there, it makes for necessary PR and your reports have, as usual, been far more detailed than those to date.

Future victims, Scully. I don't think I can get around that as much as it sickens me. It's been three days and I can't get a fix on this yet and it bothers me. I've run up stat profiles, but normally, I can start to feel something by now.

Something's missing.

M.

_To: F_Mulder@fbi.gov_

_From: D_Scully@fbi.gov sent 1633_

I'm right here, Mulder, don't disconnect. How can you expect to get around something when no one else has unearthed anything viable in over a year?

And staying in Washington?

Fat chance Mulder, once this crappy weather clears, I'm coming. I found some interesting underwear in one of your drawers. Mulder, you never cease to amaze me.

S.

_To: D_Scully@fbi.gov_

_From: F_Mulder@fbi.gov sent 1338_

That underwear is Frohike's. I'm just keeping it safe for him. I asked for sweaters, what are you doing poking around in those drawers way back there?

Damned babysitters are taking it in turns. I'm hiding out in the fucking kitchen with a laptop and phone cord. If you're determined to come, hurry up and get them off my ass. If I'm going to have a keeper, I'd prefer it to be you.

Think I'll spend some time exploring the sites again.

M.

_To: F_Mulder@fbi.gov_

_From: D_Scully@fbi.gov sent 1645_

Are you still online? The airport's just reopened so I'll catch the first flight. It's bound to go via the scenic route so I'll meet you at the hotel for breakfast.

Better send someone to pick me up, your damned overcoats weigh a ton. Why do you have to be so big?

S.


	4. Chapter 3

**DAY 5 - Wednesday**

**Seattle airport**

**5:50 a.m.**

Scully hardly hard time to feel the impact of the cold before stepping into the ubiquitous Crown Victoria, but those few seconds were distinctly chillier than D.C.

After the initial introductions, Scully rode in silence, sparing only occasional glances at her chauffeur.

"So," Agent West began with the predictable overture, "Been to Seattle before?"

"No," Scully replied "Are you stationed here permanently, or part of the new team coming in?"

"It's my first assignment out of Quantico, BSU. I've been here a few months with Morgenstein and Bruce, following the case."

Oh great, Scully thought. Mulder would have just loved that, a psychologist and rookie profiler.

"You been with Agent Mulder long, Agent Scully?"

"Yes, almost seven years."

West chewed on that for a few seconds. She would never have thought she'd do this, but it irked her no end and she'd had precious little sleep after hunting the bastard around town and finding him asleep on the goddamned evidence room couch.

"Does he ditch you all the time, too?"

Scully stifled a chuckle. "Agent Mulder has an entire repertoire of ditches, I wouldn't take it personally."

West looked across and decided the petite redhead was about 10,000 percent more socially adept than her brooding partner. West considered herself a good agent.

She'd started at the bottom, done her years in the field and, armed with her own Ph.D. in Psychology, had been proud of the invitation to join the BSU. Once again, it meant starting at the bottom and she was more than willing to be dealt the shit work, especially on a case like this. She figured early on it was a golden opportunity to learn from the best, maybe catching a few kudos along the way. When Busche announced she'd be staying on to work under Spooky Mulder instead of going back to Quantico, her initial reaction was a case of teenage butterflies. She'd heard about the infamous Fox Mulder and his little green men long before Forenzzi had mouthed off. But no one, absolutely no one in the history of the FBI had his profiling abilities, or his solve rate. Making cups of coffee and organizing his laundry seemed the perfect inside to Mulder.

What she hadn't banked on was his ability to make a brick wall seem downright conversational.

"Well," West replied, "I wouldn't have, 'cept I was told you would personally rip my lungs out if anything happened to him before you got here."

Scully's eyebrow raised a notch. Shit. The last thing Mulder needed were babysitters. Assistants, yes, but not this crap.

"Agent West, I believe your brief was perhaps, somewhat overstated. I'll rectify that this morning."

"Look, Agent Scully, I don't mind. Really. In fact it's an honor to observe someone like Agent Mulder at work."

Scully's eyebrows raised another notch.

West noticed, even in the darkness of the predawn light, "Okay, sure, some of the older agents are pissed with Mulder, big time. But no matter which way you cut it, it's envy, plain and simple. Mulder ran rings around everyone in the VCU years ago, and even now, when they're desperate, they come crawling, tail between their legs. Then he writes these eerily accurate profiles, and despite refusing the credit much of the time, still manages to have the highest solve rate ever. And not by a small margin, but by orders of magnitude. To top it off, he gets to run his own division away from all the general interoffice crap, has a qualified pathologist as a partner *and* gets to pursue his own interests.

"C'mon, Agent Scully, let's face it, they wouldn't be human if they _weren't_ envious."

Scully allowed her other eyebrow to join the first, contemplating the perspective of that statement. It dawned on her that West was completely right. She and Mulder had long labored under the assumption they were locked away in the dungeon like embarrassing and none-too-sane relatives.

Despite the perennial battle with internal conspiracies and a mercurial Skinner, they took for granted liberties and amenities other agents only dreamed of.

Scully decided she liked Agent West and rewarded her with an explanation.

"Agent West, Mulder is extremely...focused. Once he gets fixated on an idea, everything around him becomes extraneous, including common courtesies."

"Like telling people where he's going."

Scully nodded. "Or when he feels he's about to undertake something the bureau might not approve, he'll ditch you rather than have you endangered or implicated by association."

"Very courteous," West replied dryly, "But total bullshit... Agent I am a psychologist, I know a ditch when I see one." She sighed and continued in a hurry, "I'm sorry, that was uncalled for. It's just that I looked forward to this...I mean these last six months have been hell and I was hoping that Agent Mulder's arrival would..."

"Shake a few cobwebs loose?"

West smiled. "Yeah, I guess. Instead, I found myself being shaken lose and the shit storm of all time going down."

Scully frowned "I take it that this _envy_ has caused some... problems."

West rolled her eyes. "You have _no_ idea, but it's not just Mulder, it's the press and the inability to make anything of this case and...just the pressure and no headway."

"Well, I'll make sure Busche knows you are not accountable for Mulder's actions, or responsible for his stubbed toes."

Sally West allowed herself a smile. All the good things she'd heard about Agent Scully had so far proved true.

Scully definitely humanized her taciturn partner. West had in her short time with the BSU, heard a great deal more than the crap Forenzzi flouted regarding Mulder -- most of it as admiration tainted with the feeling that he had not been able to cut it. Working in the BSU had its own unique problems and burnout was high. But there seemed to be far more to it than that with Mulder, especially since West had seen his name attached to recent profiles, especially the tough nut cases. He was definitely his own man, that one.

According to the scuttlebutt after Busche and Forenzzi left the Sunday morning meeting, Scully was either warming her partner's bed, frigid, or, given the nature of the bed-warmer, both. Mulder was either gay or, according to someone else who knew his former agent girlfriend, impotent due to the high stress factor. Since West herself had been the subject of similar conflicting rumors, and understood all too well the motivations for such speculation, she discounted them as driven by the same animosity that fueled the current bitter resentment. But she had yet to pinpoint Mulder. She watched him treat strangers, hotel staff and FBI technicians with the courtesy and respect of a true gentleman. He was extraordinary with the three victims'

families he'd spoken to. Both gentle and charming, putting them at ease when the dour black-coated agents generally froze everyone up. But when it came to his peers, including herself, his face, in fact his whole body closed up and shut them out.

And then it hit her. God, what an idiot she'd been! He shut them out to protect himself. He was just so sure of himself, so at ease in his own role, it came across as arrogance to his peers. No doubt he had not been deaf all these years to the ridicule, the petty snipes and childish sniggers. West herself had witnessed a taste of this soon after his arrival. No matter how you cut it, it was distracting, annoying, and Mulder had no interest in anything but the job. So he cut them all out, communicating with them only as need be, never giving them enough of himself to use against him. West sighed, no wonder he'd been so uncommunicative with her.

Okay, she was a psychologist. Now she could see the lay of the land, she could pick a path across it.

Scully interrupted her reverie. Hoping they didn't have to travel halfway across town to get Mulder to sleep in a proper bed at nights she asked, "How far is the hotel from the field office?"

"Right across the road. But the FBI has pretty much taken it over as an extension to the Seattle office. There's a lot more room to set up workshops and secure evidence rooms pertaining to the case. It's only a thirty room establishment and we've got about twenty-five occupied at the moment, with the changeover of agents and evidence and converted conference rooms. The office is finally moving into larger premises next month, but they're going to keep the hotel as an extension until this case is finished.

"It's not bad, central businessmen type and the proprietor has opened up the restaurant on a twenty-four hour basis. Been really good about helping out and providing things."

Scully replied dryly "I suppose he would, having his hotel booked out by a government agency."

West chuckled. "True, but it's more than that, they're good people. He's Greek and his extended family runs the restaurant and manages all the cleaning and laundry. The family's been checked out, of course. Once we decided to set up shop, we had to, especially with the cleaning. What I mean is, the press are not exactly treating us with kid gloves and the Popopoulas' have been exceptionally discreet when they could have made a small fortune selling tips.

"Anyhow, he's given a couple of masters keys out so we can access spare rooms in case of unexpected arrivals. He makes _the_ best coffee and Greek pastries in Seattle and keeps it all on tap around the clock. Better than being at home.

"I've got you and Mulder on the fourth floor, in adjoining rooms, is that okay? The plumbing is kind of old and it's not so noticeable on the top floor."

Scully smiled her thanks and added "I guess it would be too much to hope that the coroner's office is nearby."

West grinned. "Not too bad, fifteen minutes in rush hour, five otherwise."

Scully didn't mind. Given a choice, the fact that Mulder only had to be convinced to climb a few stairs to sleep or shower made the short drive a small price to pay.

The Ford turned into a parking lot at the rear of the hotel and Agent West helped Scully with her luggage. West would never have commented about the number of bags, it was none of her business, but Scully, proud of her ability to pack minimally, was vaguely annoyed at having to lug half her partner's wardrobe across the continent.

After checking in, West took Scully to her room. Scully invited her in to bring her up to speed while she unpacked.

Just as they were getting down to finer details, the connecting door to Mulder's room burst in without warning and the sweatsuit-clothed agent strode in.

"Scully! Didja bring spare running shoes? Jesus this place is worse than D.C. for deicing running tracks. In fact most of my fucking shoes are soaked. What about boots?"

West, who had seated herself on the lounge, lifted her eyebrows in surprise. No knock, no, "Hello, Agent Scully, did you get any sleep on the flight?" Not one hint of polite small talk. Mulder sounded like a husband. No, nope, scratch that. He sounded like one of West's teenage boys not that there was much difference between them and husbands.

Mulder's face was red from the cold and ice particles attached themselves to his hair. It was so cold outside his sweat had frozen in his hair. West glanced at Scully, curious to see her reaction.

"In there, Mulder," Scully pointed to two mismatched pieces of luggage "Coats, sweaters, shoes, boots -- and Frohike's underwear."

"I never took you for kinky, Scully."

"Aren't you the one who insists it's only kinky the first time? Knowing you'd be deprived of your video collection Mulder, I figured they'd be the next best thing."

Mulder grimaced, he couldn't win that one. He'd stuff those damned boxers down the little toad's throat next time he saw him. Still, he had only himself to blame for not trashing them along with the waterbed that appeared around the same time.

"Still don't know why you were rummaging through *those* drawers, Scully." His eidetic memory failed at the worst possible moments and he shuddered at what else Scully might have come across.

"Now I can blackmail at least three dinners out of you, Mulder." She grinned at him cheerfully then added, "But I also found this,"

Scully held up a long red and white striped head warmer she'd seen him running in during the dead of winter. Mulder smiled and bowed his head in gratitude. As he looked up, he noticed West sitting in the lounge chair.

"Morning." Mulder was polite but distant, totally unselfconscious about the conversation with his partner.

"Agent Mulder."

West took her leave soon after, handing Scully the car keys as she left. She absently considered why they needed to say each other's names so much, then regarded it as a form of bonding, an intimacy of words. West's bond with her first partner had been necessarily strong, but this was of a different nature. She and her partner had socialized together, partly because they were both married and had kids of a similar age. Their spouses got along with each other and suffered none of the jealousy that might be expected. But they also gave each other room. The intensity of the relationship she'd just been privy to allowed no room for outsiders, none at all. It was not surprising, but she was not sure if it was healthy, either.

Mulder took the bags into his room while maintaining a running dialogue. They had been apart only a few days, but he missed sorting his constant stream of ideas through the sieve of Scully's scientific reasoning.

"How did your profiles go?" Scully ventured. She noticed Mulder's face had started to take on that hooded, slightly preoccupied look.

"That's the problem," he said, coming back into her room.

"By now, I should be getting a feel for it, but a lot of things simply don't add up. I am leaning in the third party pornography direction more and more and definitely agree with you that there's at least two involved. Did you finish reviewing all the previous autopsy reports?"

Scully knew Mulder would know them letter perfect by now.

"Yeah, and I'm not happy over certain omissions, especially the missed angles of penetration. Okay, they were subtle, but significant. Admittedly I had an easier take of it having two bodies together."

"It fits. Shit, the M.E. should have picked that up before."

"One is left handed, the other right. Sexually, one UNSUB object penetrates, the other, apparently uses penile. If they're working together, the evidence is hidden, except for the fact that the knives used are the same type, if not identical implements."

"It supports the evidence, and what I'm thinking. I ran it by Forenzzi, but he's stuck to the current thinking with fucking super glue."

"Joe Forenzzi?" Scully turned to look at Mulder.

"Yeah, you know him?" Mulder knew the big man hated him, specifically because he blamed Mulder for the death of Steve Wallenberg, but Mulder had hoped that stonewalling on a case like this was beneath the man. Apparently not.

Mulder expected the snide remarks and innuendos from the moment he steeped foot in the hotel. As he remarked to Scully soon after they began working together, sometimes the need to mess with their heads outweighed the millstone of humiliation. The passing years only served to emphasize his reputation as a cracked genius. The upside was he was generally left alone, even avoided, during profiling consultations. The downside, as in this case, was the inherent prejudice against his theories.

On a case like this he needed people to follow through without stopping to question him on every little detail. He didn't have time to justify his reasoning, it was just too complex. That's where Scully came in. They'd listen to her.

He needed her to ensure streamlined teamwork, not petty machinations.

Scully debated whether she should be completely forthcoming. But it was only fair Mulder knew.

"We dated for a couple of months when he was a detective at the 12th Precinct and I was interning in ER. He joined the F.B.I. about a year before I did."

Mulder knew from experience that an intern's idea of a date was not hand-holding by the reflecting pool. He stared at his very professional partner and wondered, not for the first time, what Scully had been like before joining the bureau.

"Didn't work out, huh?"

Scully grinned, "Mulder, if that's the same Forenzzi, he's six foot eight inches and two and a half times my weight...it was kinda ridiculous."

Mulder immediately squashed the image that came to mind.

One more reason to dislike the narrow minded son of a bitch.

Scully closed her closet door and turning to her partner, said, "Mulder, a lot of these guys have been on this case since the start. You can't blame them for feeling upset over their pet theories being flushed down the sewer."

Mulder shot her a look. What in hell had she seen in Forenzzi? The guy was a narrow-minded prick. A bleak part of his mind knew the answer. Forenzzi was a straight arrow, by-the-book formal thinker. A good little scientist type.

The total antithesis to Mulder.

His voice tightened as he began the process of locking the professional doors against Dana Scully. He needed his partner now, Agent Scully, M.D. "Especially when it's Spooky doing the flushing. Look, Scully, their shit-eating theories are letting kids, little children, suffer a goddamned nightmarish death. I don't, and these kids sure as hell don't, have the luxury of dealing with egos." Mulder stopped his restless pacing across the floor and shook his head. Changing the subject he asked, "When's Skinner flying in?"

"He was booked on the same flight as me, but Kimberly called him in at the last minute. He should be in by 6 tonight.

Scully already noticed the slight shifting in their roles and regretted mentioning Forenzzi.

Mulder nodded and considered the situation. "Scully, the shakeups going down here have everyone on edge, especially with these two latest bodies. Forenzzi's an okay agent, but he resents Skinner coming in to take over. And he hates my guts. Maybe you could have a word..."

"Mulder it's been ten years and I really never knew the man that well. I was a little surprised he passed the FBI screening because he has, or at least had, a short temper.

But he's older now, maybe the fuse burns more slowly.

"Mulder, I know you can't cut them any slack, but you're a psychologist. The media have just about chewed their testes off and Forenzzi's naturally going to take it personally since he was the team leader. Then we come in cold and tell them they've been going about it all wrong. I don't doubt there will be feelings of resentment over this, just give it a few days for the teams to reform and new blood to come it. It'll settle down soon enough."

"Soon enough to save the next kid?" Mulder barked a humorless laugh, feeling the weight of frustration and ultimate responsibility. He was not about to drag up his and Forenzzi's ancient history. It had no place on this case and Forenzzi knew it.

Scully watched him resume his pacing for a moment then said quietly, "How about you take me down, feed me breakfast and show me the setup. Then I can go check out the facilities at the morgue while you finish ticking off everyone else before Skinner gets here."

Mulder threw her a lopsided grin. "At least the food's pretty good. Scully, you'll like it here, you can even get rabbit food. Let me get showered and changed, first."

* * *

**Day 5 - Wednesday**

**Central Hotel, Seattle**

**7:30 a.m.**

**From the journal of Crystal Palmer**

He's been here a couple of days now. He's sort of regular about this running business, but today he didn't show until 6:30 am. Then he walked in with the rest of himself. I know that sounds ridiculous but that was how it felt -- like a part of him that had been missing. Now, he seemed whole again.

It didn't take much, just this tiny little red head, about five foot two. She was so different from the other female agents, I figured she must have been a consultant or something.

Turns out she's a doctor, a forensic pathologist, cuts up dead bodies for a living. What can you say to that, huh?

What really upsets me is that even when they catch this monster, these sort of people just move on to the next horror story and pick up where they left off. It's like living in a permanent Stephen King novel. Well, maybe not that bad, maybe more like Silence of the Lambs.

Shit, I think that's probably worse.

Anyway, my point is the very fact that these people exist, that there are so many of them, that they make a full-time living doing this, appalls me. It means there's not just one monster out there, not just one sick aberration.

It means it never ends.

So they pull up stakes and leave here when it's over, but then how can I forget that? These people still exist. It's not like they're locked away in a closet and just dusted off every few years when some lunatic hares out and starts slaughtering people. They do it all the goddamned time. I thought I could put it all aside when they left, but I can't, not anymore, it's indelibly etched on me now.

But that's not why I'm writing. It's about her. She's tiny, but she carries an aura that makes up for it, big time. And she's pretty...no, that's not the right word, more than pretty, but not, you know, not blatant. She's a head-turner in a totally sophisticated, intelligent way.

She's got the sort of looks men never see in pinup calendars, but secretly lust after. She invites not passes and leers, but respect and admiration, as well as desire.

She walks like him, gracefully, but still like a woman.

The other female agents walk like agents. Not that they plod, but it's a comparative thing. Despite her scowls, she just doesn't seem as jaded or hard as the others. I caught her smiling a couple of times and she's gorgeous when she does that. I've never been attracted to women, despite the come-ons at school, especially after Paul left, but you can't help but look at her and wish you could carry yourself like that. First time in my life I ever wished I was short and had, of all the ridiculous things, red hair.

I served them breakfast, such as it was, at their table.

Silly, I know. I'm getting as bad as Dulcie. But there was no one else around, so I thought, what the hell. But as I watched them I felt like some sort of voyeur. He touched her face briefly and it struck me as something more intimate than a lover's embrace. Like everything about them, it was surreal. These were not real people, not like us. They were something from another world, their designer suits and good looks belying the evil they lived to expose.

I cannot reconcile it that they bring such beauty to sully our world of innocence. At least the other agents look the part. The women look clunky and hard and stern and the men, though better-groomed than detectives, plain and normal.

But these two were a serious aberration and it kept jolting me. It was all wrong.

* * *

**Day 5 - Wednesday**

**Situation Room**

**Central Hotel, Seattle**

**0900**

"Okay, let's just run through it from the start. I appreciate that many of you have been through this a dozen...a thousand times before, but for those newlyarrived like myself, it's a chance to review what we know and introduce you to some new evidence based on the latest autopsies."

A rumble made its way across the room in response to the magical words, *new evidence*. Around fifteen of the thirty odd men and women who sat in the conference room were due to fly out the following morning. They had stayed on only long enough to compile their notes and make written reports. Most of them attended that morning's meeting to find out why in hell they were being replaced. No matter how many times they were assured that it was simply to "inject fresh approaches," it left an ugly taste in their mouths.

And many of them just wanted to get a look at the legendary Spooky.

Mulder had buried himself in the files and evidence following his arrival, emerging only long enough to meet a few of the victims' families, run, eat and shower. This was his first group meeting now that the majority of incoming agents had arrived.

He walked around the long trestle table at front, his fingers touching pieces of paper, photos and reports as he went, as if tactile contact with them helped him absorb their contents. Scully stood about halfway down the room to one side. She recognized a spattering of faces throughout the group, but the vast majority were unknowns. Forenzzi's exceptionally tall frame stood out, as did Davidson. Scully herself was all but visually lost among the much larger bodies around her.

She glanced up at the presentation board with their odd notations and diagrams. None of the writing was Mulder's.

She knew from experience he tended to use legal pads and pens to take notes, then transcribed to computer once he'd formulated his thinking. Most of the notes were definitely aspects of a profile, but she doubted it was Mulder's. The harsh light in the room emphasized her partner's appearance.

He'd gotten little sleep and no doubt little food since she'd seen him on Saturday night. He'd immersed himself in profiling, only coming up for air when his body screamed loudly enough. She had managed to get breakfast in him a little while before, but was sure she heard him throwing up afterward. A few moments later she heard the toilet flush.

She'd knocked on his door and he'd called out he'd just be a minute. Then the smell of mouthwash.

Shit.

"The first incident was eighteen months ago," Mulder continued as he moved around the table, reciting the facts from his eidetic memory. "The remains of an Hispanic 12year-old homeless male, later identified as one Miguel Penzos, were found hanging on a suburban clothes line, hence the name Line Killings. The local P.D. was called in but no leads found. No apparent connection to the owners of the household. The path to the clothesline was paved.

Evidence indicates the victim was raped while still alive.

Oral penetration was not ascertained due to facial mutilation possibly caused by the instrument used to sever the head from the torso post mortem. In other words, whoever was wielding the axe had poor aim.

"The victim was stabbed once in the heart although this occured post mortem."

More rumbles greeted that revelation.

Mulder continued, "The other limbs were removed post mortem and hacked into pieces by what appears to be the same or similar instrument that removed the head.

The torso was left relatively intact.

"The victim was small for his age, could have been mistaken for a boy as young as eight. No semen, no blood, hair or skin other than that belonging to the victim. No other trace evidence that might lead to the whereabouts of the actual kill site. Trace of detergent on the skin, common brand type, indicating the remains were transported in a recently washed container and that the body was washed after dismemberment.

"The body parts were attached to the clothes line by way of a commonly available nylon cord piercing a hole in each portion of the victim's remains.

"Okay, the local cops were stumped and with the boy's mother recently OD'd and there being no other known relatives, the police understandably didn't bust a gut following zero leads."

Mulder paused, then picked up a bundle of crime scene photos from another stack.

"Two and a half months later victim number two, an 11-yearold Caucasian male, also a street kid and a known prostitute, was found strung up on a clothesline in a historical district backyard. Once again, no witnesses to his abduction, no suspicious vehicles where the remains were left, no apparent connection from anything, to anything except they were both street kids, homeless."

Over the next hour and a half Mulder recited the history of the grotesque slayings, recounting a total of fifteen homicides during the first twelve months. His approach was simple, factual and created in the minds of everyone present a respect that the new guy had memorized all of this in just three days. Even Forenzzi grudgingly admired Mulder's retention of details.

Because of the horrific nature of the crimes, the inability to find any leads and the reduced time between each incident, the FBI profiling unit was called in after the fifth victim, a female. Until then, their own analysts presumed the UNSUB was only into boys.

"All the usual steps had already been taken," Mulder continued. "Including bringing in and questioning known pedophiles, dozens of street kids, the victim's pimps, parents if they existed, appeals to the public, rewards and so on. All their old schools, playgrounds, local parks were checked. Being street kids meant the task of follow-up was a bitch, but it looks like all bases were covered. The kids were from a variety of racial groups, both genders taken in no particular order, no distinguishing features like a common tattoo, body jewelry, birth date, star sign, blood group and so on...Three were infected with HIV, and five, fully half, showed evidence of hard drug abuse. However given their life situations, nothing unusual there. The Seattle P.D. had, in fact, done a pretty thorough job.

"There seemed to be nothing to link these kids except them being prostitutes. A profile was built on that basis. Then victim number eleven, a 7-year-old female, tossed that theory."

This victim appeared to have been picked up in San Francisco and transported to Seattle. That made it a federal case.

The SPD was more than happy to get it off their plates.

"Jessica Somners wasn't a street kid, had only been missing a week from her San Francisco home when she turned up dead.

It is entirely possible that she did, in fact, run away and was not abducted as first supposed. Since then, it has come to light that Daddy had been fucking her and came home one night with a couple of friends to share her around.

"The profiling assumption that all the kids were the victims of sexual abuse then went out the window with victims twelve and thirteen. They were a sister and brother, aged ten and four respectively, who disappeared sometime between walking from home to the school bus stop four blocks away. Their mother insisted that they knew better than to get in a car with strangers. Their remains were found thirty miles apart. One was strung on a wire fence line and the other, an external power line to an outside building.

"Their mother committed suicide two weeks later."

Mulder took a deep breath and paused. It had not been necessary to include that final statement, but after presenting the horrific case files, most normal people emotionally closed down in order to concentrate on the facts. Mulder deemed it necessary to remind everyone that as devastating as the crime to the children, the circle of victims spread much wider than the victims themselves. This was a crime against society, made more heinous because it was against children. This crime was beyond horrible, it was evil, pure and simple. And their job was to find and stop that evil.

Mulder took a proffered bottle of water from West, drank almost half, then continued. "Close investigation shows no evidence, forensic or social, of past child abuse or sexual maltreatment prior to the abduction and murder of the Bartlett children. They were both killed between seventy and eighty hours after they were last seen alive.

"From that point on the source of the victims becomes random, spreading across three states. They range in age from four to twelve although the oldest generally appear young for their age, no more than ten. The frequency of the attacks has escalated so that we are now on victim number forty-two after eighteen months. This leads me to believe the acquisition of victims remains essentially random, opportunistic rather than planned. The underlying causal factor is not retribution or punishment, it is opportunistic pedophilia and sexual satisfaction derived not just from sexual penetration, but from killing and butchering these children. There is a definite connection to pedophile pornography. The current profile is therefore completely wrong."

The room immediately erupted with objections. Scully noticed Forenzzi smirked and looked at Mulder with satisfied animosity.

Mulder raised his hand and eventually had to raise his voice to be heard. "Some of you insisted on seeing my initial profile outline, however these were very rough briefs, hardly more than off the shelf models. I had formulated a more radical concept that, in the light of the two most recent killings and their autopsy results, will be expanded upon over the next twelve hours. I believe this will give you something more concrete to work with." Mulder pointedly ignored the continued ground rumble of objections throughout the room.

Profiling was not an exact science by any stretch of the imagination. It was a tool in a vast repertoire of tools but until now, the profile for this case was the only substantial tool they really had to work with. Changing profiles was paramount to saying they had been wasting their time, so he added, "This does not in any way undermine the very solid work that has been put into this case to date. From what I can see, every law enforcement officer and technician involved has crossed every T and dotted every I. The groundwork you have put in has created a foundation and I can assure you, will save a great deal of time and the lives of future victims, children, when new evidence is incorporated into the equation."

What he didn't say was that the case had faltered in part because the local M.E. had failed to pick up evidence Scully had unearthed. Evidence that added credence to his own ideas about what was really going on. He also failed to say what he really thought when it came to lack of imagination used to piece evidence together. He had railed against Busche and Forenzzi for that. Oh, he'd been right about the T's and I's. Everything was nice and neat and orderly and pigeonholed and yes, they needed that. But no one, including the profilers, had begun to connect the dots, simply because the dots were absent. And that in itself was a clue.

Age, and a seven year association with Scully had, if not mellowed Mulder, taught him to temper what others perceived as arrogance, but was in fact incredible frustration that they could not see as clearly as he. He'd done his piece, given his prep talk like a good little incoming profiler, now he could cut and go do what he had been avoiding since Sunday. Time now, to sell his soul to the devil and pray he could steal it back when it was done with him.

"A.D. Skinner will be arriving on this evening's flight.

As you are no doubt aware, he will be running the teams from this point on. As the profiler, I will continue to revise and narrow the parameters of this case until it is solved. To do this I need to be kept informed of new evidence, no matter how trivial. As usual, each team has been assigned a leader, each leader will meet here every day at 6.30 a.m., or as otherwise advised, to collate information. I will attend those meetings. If we're lucky, something big breaks a case like this, but as you all know, it is just as often a small or series of small, apparently unrelated events. You are here to unearth those events. I am here to piece them together and tell you who your killers are."

Surprisingly, no one picked up on his use of the plural.

"Also, if any one of you have any way-out ideas, no matter how odd or unrelated they may seem, I'm listening. Bouncing around concepts may not be very scientific or ordered, but it can lead to that one thing we need to crack this case.

Although I am fairly sure we can discount gray Reticulans, I'm open to suggestions from anyone, right down to the paper clerks and cleaners." Mulder delivered this last in his usual deadpan manner.

Scully lowered her face and put her hand to her forehead to hide the smile that escaped her lips.

A couple of nervous chuckles started around the room and a some of the younger agents flushed with embarrassment as they realized they had actually started to write gray Reticulans on their note pads.

Mulder's comment did, however, break the ice somewhat and as he sipped more water, someone asked, "What's this evidence that's come to light?"

Mulder caught his partner's eye across the room. Forenzzi's face animated as Scully passed him, but he was too close, with their almost eighteen-inch height difference, to catch her eye.

He noticed that maturity had turned Dana Scully from a merely pretty woman, into an exceptionally poised beauty. But he found it hard, in fact impossible, to fathom why she'd remained partnered to Mulder. No matter what stories circulated, he knew damned well Mulder wasn't fucking her, simply because he couldn't. He figured the relationship between them was probably similar to other female/gay male ones. They were best buddies and if her sojourns in hospital were anything to go by, so fucking loyal it bordered on stupidity. But that was it, nothing else.

A sudden desire echoed through his body. Little Dana, he recalled fondly, was pretty hot between the sheets. She'd remained unmarried and by all accounts not even seeing anyone. This case had become his waking bitch nightmare and he sure wouldn't mind a little tension-relieving. He knew from West that Scully was planning to go down to the morgue after this meeting. He'd make a point of dropping by, maybe taking her for coffee, catch up on old times and, over the next few days, slowly charm her as he had years before.

Forenzzi was not idiot enough to believe she'd jump in the sack with him for old time's sake. But he had really liked her then and felt that handled carefully, they might find time for a little mutual release over the next few weeks.

He'd enjoy charming her and if the payoff coincidentally slapped Mulder in the face, well that was an added bonus.

As Scully walked to the front, whispered comments flowed around the room. Yes, that's old Spooky's partner, the forensic pathologist who actually works as a field agent.

Mulder did not move from where he'd positioned himself leaning with his back to the trestle table. Scully took up position beside him, so close they touched. It was recognized by many in the room as a natural solidarity between partners. The psychologists amongst them also saw it as a defensive posture. The atmosphere was charged with a potent mixture of admiration and aggravation, bitterness, resentment and respect bordering on awe. Scully stood by her partner in more ways than one. Forenzzi couldn't help but notice how their hands brushed unselfconsciously as she reached behind her partner to grab a file.

Scully turned to face the front and began. "Most of you are familiar with the methodology used to deduce findings, therefore I'm not going to go over them now. If you require more detailed understanding, please refer to appendices C to H on my report, a copy of which is attached to your dailies. Additionally, you are well acquainted with the previous autopsy results, so I will not be going over those, just the new points ascertained from the latest victims. For anyone interested, I will be giving a full lecture with slide presentation on these autopsies at 5:30 p.m. in room #3." With that, she effectively undermined anyone questioning the veracity of what was bound to be a confrontational conclusion.

Forenzzi frowned. He had not had time to go over the latest autopsies, taking for granted anything Scully said would be accurate. He knew she was the one who made up for Mulder's sloppy investigative procedures. From his oblique perspective, it seemed Mulder and Scully were well and truly in each other's personal space. So much so that they appeared to share only one. Forenzzi's scowl deepened.

Scully continued. "I performed autopsies on the two recently-discovered victims. Both were females, aged nine and seven years respectively. Although one victim disappeared approximately one month before the remains were discovered, the torso was surprisingly free of predation and in relatively good condition. This was due no doubt to the almost constant sub-zero temperature conditions of the site and the manner in which the remains were hung.

"As with prior victims, both were raped anally and vaginally, however, by what appears to be two separate UNSUB's."

With that little bombshell dropped, Scully paused. Mulder laid his hand on his partner's arm and spoke a few quiet words while the room virtually erupted around them. Scully nodded, ignoring the outburst. Although Mulder removed his hand, he rested it on the table in such a way that if Scully had leaned back, his arm would be around her. Most of those present were distracted by this totally unexpected announcement and took no notice of the body language.

However a handful, particularly those inclined to gossip or with some grudge against Spooky Mulder, took it as further evidence the relationship between the two was something other than professional. Forenzzi knew better. If they were fucking they would not flaunt it like that. No, he knew what Spooky was like. It was something perverted.

Shit. Poor Dana.

"The reasons for my conclusion..." Scully had to raise her voice to continue, but it took a few moments for the voices to fade completely. "As I was saying, the reasons for my conclusion is twofold. The entry points and angles of penetration into the thoracic cavity differ only slightly, but sufficiently to indicate one was from a right-handed person, the other, left handed. This in itself is not conclusive to two individuals however the evidence is backed up by the degree and type of sexual penetration. One victim was apparently penetrated with a penis while the other appears to have been object-raped, with considerably, and I must add unusually, surprisingly little force. Death was caused by..." Again, the rumbling voices circulated around the room but Scully continued unabated. "Death was caused by a gash across the carotid artery, not the stab to the heart. Two distinct blades were used on the neck, one for killing, the other for decapitation."

Forenzzi was livid. The damned autopsy results verified the bullshit Mulder had tried to spout the moment he'd arrived. He didn't even have the satisfaction of believing Mulder had come to his conclusion after Scully had completed the autopsies. The fact that the smart-assed little turd had come up with this by himself was irksome beyond words.

Before anyone could comment Mulder added. "This fits in with the conflicting aspects of prior profiles. We are now looking for numerous, I would go so far as to suggest at least four UNSUBs operating as couples. Either male/male or male/female, or both. This is most definitely not the operation of a lone serial killer nor is there evidence of the more common, ritualistic, satanic overtones. We are looking for some very sexually fucked-up people who, as I said previously, get their jollies not simply from the sexual act, but the act of murdering and then dismembering the bodies. I am almost certain there are either links to or origins to snuff pornography and that aspect is being investigated by the San Diego office because, as you are aware, most snuff porn is made using illegal immigrants."

At that point, a dozen questions were fired at both Mulder and Scully and although each were answered fully, Scully could detect in Mulder a growing impatience. The questions became repetitive and Mulder felt his partner touch his hip in order to forestall what would have been a sarcastic reply. Mulder pulled his hand from the table to touch his partner's back, reassuring her. He did however break up the meeting by stating he would have preliminary profiles by six that evening.

With that his hand pushed a little against Scully, encouraging her to precede him from the room.


	5. Chapter 4

**Day 5 - Wednesday**

**Room #3**

**Central Hotel, Seattle**

**7 p.m.**

Mulder quietly entered the room after making sure his last profile was being judiciously photocopied and distributed.

He was exhausted, hungry and tired and almost willing to believe he might eat and sleep that night. But he also knew the profiles would not be enough. At some point he must abandon this reticence and let go. If he didn't set himself up for it soon, the next victim would be wasted.

Fuck it.

The next vicitm.

The next one would likely be his...

Sleep and food depravation would hasten the process. He had to prepare himself for this, whenever the killers struck again he had to be ready to let go, to let it take control of him. To use him, to show him...

No, no, tonight he could not sleep.

Scully had almost wrapped up her presentation to the twelve people who sat quietly in the darkened room. Mulder was mollified to see Forenzzi was one of them. The man's reluctance to accept Mulder's proposition seemed to have done an about face in the light of Scully's scientific reasoning. Mulder just wanted them to believe the truth and use it. That Scully provided that truth was of great comfort to him. So often skeptical of his conclusions, this was one occasion where they could agree. Now, he needed an hour or so with her to run some of his more unlikely theories past her analytical mind.

Christ if he could dig deep enough he might yet find these bastards before...ah fuck it! Who was he trying to fool?

Ten years. Ten goddamned years he'd stayed free of this but he _had_ to let go. One more child would die while he stood by and did _nothing_.

Oh God that was the worst of all. That he allowed it to happen and did _nothing_ to take control! If he had just been able to control _himself_...

He blinked back the images. There was no other way. He would profile these bastards to the bitter end, then give in to their sick madness and become them. It was what he was and running away from it would just mean another child would die. And another. Patterson was right. This is what he was. That he alone could find them, to sacrifice one to save who knew how many more, was the way it had to be.

He pulled his eyes up to Scully. But oh Jesus why did she have to witness this? He could do it alone. He could hide it from her. Please dear God let it happen when she's not around. Give me some warning, let me feel their hunger and blood lust and arousal and give me time to escape her eyes.

Please.

The presentation came to an end, people filed out of the room. Forenzzi made his way to the front and perched on the table while Scully collected her material. He had missed her that afternoon at the morgue, having spent almost the entire day with Skinner and the newly-formed team leaders.

Entirely new lines of investigation had opened up with this pornography take. That more than one UNSUB was involved both increased the workload, but as Forenzzi well knew, quadrupled their chances of a break. Yet, as the agents around him kept on about how brilliant fucking _our man_ Spooky was to have come in and figured it all out in a few days, Forenzzi became more and more ticked off. _Our man_.

Shit, as the first of the profiles were distributed, the FBI's former pariah had taken on the mythic proportions of a hero.

As the day progressed, Forenzzi decided the next asshole that patted him on the back and congratulated him would get a fistful. Christ, he knew what they meant when they talked about all the fine work he'd put in to date. What they really meant was, step aside now, buddy, you fucked up and the D.C.

boys are here to yank your jewels out of the fire. Jesus, he was a D.C. man himself before being sent to this fucking hick town.

Mulder the hero, Mulder, the little ass-jabbing cocksucking faggot. Shit, if the press only knew they were using a fucking pedophile to catch a pedophile. Oh, he knew all about Mulder's dirty little secrets. He'd been there in Michigan. He'd had to get Mulder down to a meeting and when the profiler never answered his door, Forenzzi heard the gutteral screams and broke it down. And there was Mulder, surrounded in photos of the dead boys, coming all over himself in his trousers, screaming about fucking them and slicing them.

That had made Forenzzi almost ill.

Patterson and the psychiatrist had come flying up the stairs and shunted him out of there, but not before Forenzzi had seen plenty. Jesus, he wasn't averse to good skin flicks himself, and he'd thanked God for adult pay TV in some of the places he'd been assigned. But kids, little boys...

getting into the minds of killers was one thing but that ...what Mulder was doing....nah, that was sick, way too sick.

Shit. They'd caught the goddammed killer only a few days later, as a direct result of Mulder's fucking sick little self indulgence so Patterson said. Okay, so maybe he wasn't a pedophile, maybe he only got off on photos, but Jesus they were _dead_ kids, dead boys. And the guy wasn't even touching himself, just jerking back and forth and coming in his goddamned _pants_ , he was so fruit looped!

But what bothered him now was that Scully must have had some idea. After seven years, she must have seen it.

Had she elected to turn a blind eye? No, no she surely wouldn't have changed that much. But the way the FBI protected Mulder...very likely she'd been ordered to shut up. God, he felt sorry for her, she was just a slip of a thing, really. She used to laugh, really laugh and he could see on her face that laughter, even smiles, had long since gone.

After Michigan, Forenzzi had learned a great deal more than he'd wanted. He learned the FBI kept some very weird people in its employ, people who would never have passed a psych exam. People like alien-chasing Mulder, who the FBI let keep his little men from Mars indulgence so long as he could be used to flush out society's even dirtier crap. But Forenzzi had a thing about pedophiles, that's why he'd obsessed over this case for months. And now a fucking pedophile comes in to take it over. Yeah, maybe Mulder never did it for real, but as far as Forezzi was concerned, photos or for real, made no matter. You were still a pedophile in his books. He could not reconcile that, no matter how you cut it, it was wrong, plain wrong and no amount of moral juggling could set it right.

Like a tongue worrying a cavity, he needed to find out more about Mulder. He needed to know what Scully knew and he needed to find a way to get Mulder off the case. He didn't want him publicly exposed, that would embarrass the Bureau, but if he could somehow let it slip to Fred Baxter...and also let it slip that they were reduced to using a flying saucer watcher fruitcake. That was right up Baxter's alley...embarrassing, but not fatal. Yeah, if he could play it just right...And for that he really needed to get in with Dana again.

Mulder elected to remain in the shadows. He knew Scully, knew he was there. Although he could not hear the exchange, Mulder noticed Forenzzi didn't move out of Scully's way as she reached for her overhead projection diagrams. Scully was obliged to either reach past him, brushing against his thigh, or go right around the table.

After a few moments, without looking up, she spoke a little louder, "I'll be right with you Mulder. Could you get those slides out of the projector for me please?" Forenzzi's eyes snapped up and narrowed as he saw movement near the wallmounted projector. How in hell did she know he was there?

But he remained leaning against the table. He had no reason to leave, in fact every reason to stay.

"How about joining us for dinner, then Dana?" He asked.

Scully smiled politely and was about to reply when the room illuminated. Mulder had flicked the lights on in order to remove the slides. Scully's eyes automatically searched her partner out. The sight of him brought a frown to her face. Now, oblivious to Forenzzi, she dropped the folder in her hand to the table and strode to the back of the room.

"Mulder?" Scully put her hand to his face in concern. He looked gray and drawn, far more so than after the morning's meeting. Scully had left him to finish his profiles while she went to the Medical Examiner's office and had the dubious pleasure of meeting Silas Harqua.

"Have you eaten anything since breakfast?"

He smiled at her fondly and replied "No, I'm not hungry."

Scully placed one hand along his forehead to determine if he had a temperature, he certainly looked ill enough. She took his other hand in hers, checking his pulse.

He smiled indulgently and said "I'm fine, Doc, just a little tired, that's all. Listen I need to run a few things by you."

"All right, let me finish up here and we can go get something to eat."

Mulder scrunched up his nose but Scully stopped him "Dinner, Mulder, or you don't get to pick my brains. The hotel restaurant is only a few steps away, I won't even make you change your shirt."

Forenzzi strained to hear the exchange, but to his annoyance, all he could pick up was something about dinner.

Still, that bothered him far less than the way Mulder stood so close to his partner. Forenzzi had conveniently forgotten Scully had gone to Mulder, all he could see was them touching at the hips and Scully stroking his face and holding his hand. The look of unabashed fondness in Mulder's eyes made him ill. God, if only Dana knew what a sick puppy Mulder really was.

Forenzzi shuddered. What if he was wrong, what if Mulder had somehow done something to her, involved her somehow in his sick, perverted sex life?

Shit.

Forenzzi stood when he realized they were ignoring him.

Mulder's eyes left his partner's face and looked at the bigger man indifferently as he walked towards them.

"I'll catch up with you later, Dana," Forenzzi said neutrally as he walked by. He only nodded at Mulder, determined to be professional despite the almost overwhelming urge to smash the sick bastard's face in.

Mulder let a smile tug the corner of his eyes and he turned his head slightly in what Forenzzi interpreted as an insolent gesture. Forenzzi managed to leave the room without saying anything, then headed straight for the bar.

If he could not do it with his fists, at least he could eradicate pretty boy's face with a few well placed Scotches.

* * *

**Day 5 - Wednesday**

**Central Hotel, Seattle**

**11:00 p.m.**

**From the journal of Crystal Palmer.**

Dad's taking me out tomorrow night to celebrate. I should be pleased. I should be emotionally celebrating that my rewritten thesis has finally been accepted. And I am, of course. It's just that this case is getting to me.

No, that's not true. This had gotten to me before. It's these two getting to me.

They came down to dinner tonight, around 7:15 pm. Then, about a half hour later, most of the old crowd came together with Busche and Forenzzi. Not being Sunday, the place only had a handful of regulars as well as these guys.

There were about twenty in the group, local agents and a bunch of the ones who'd been here since it started. Oh yeah, and a new guy. The big new guy nodded at these two, who smiled back in recognition. The others all but ignored them and the room temperature dropped so much I went and stoked the damned fire.

Mulder and the redhead didn't seem to need anyone else.

They were connected, you could see it from clear across the room. After they'd finished dinner the new guy signaled them. Mulder seemed uncomfortable and I realized he looked pretty tired and not too well. He hardly touched his dinner, either. Mind you, when I thought about it, for a guy his size, a runner, he hardly seemed to eat much of anything. But Red kind of dragged him across. He had his hand in the center of her back and she walked in front of him but, yeah, she was definitely pulling him.

They sat down, Mulder near Busche, Forenzzi, and the new guy. Red sat a few chairs away talking to someone else.

Every minute or so one of them would glance at the other.

And it wasn't just a glance. It was a look, an affirmation.

I've never seen anything like it before and believe me, I've seen my fair share of lovers in this place. Nope, this was something else again, something on an entirely different plane. If men are from Mars and women, Venus, these two were from Alpha Centauri.

Oh, I forgot! How could I forget that? They call him Spooky, Spooky Mulder. And Red's name is Scully. They call him that because he really does chase aliens, that's part of the legend.

But it gets weirder. The FBI has a whole section dedicated to chasing this alien stuff and it's run by Spooky. I was wrong. They do lock him in the basement and only drag him out and brush him off when they need him.

But it sent shivers down my spine. Think about it, if the FBI actually keeps an entire department to chase down aliens, there must be something in it, right?

So, they'd finished dinner. A couple of the other agents, including Forenzzi, had been drinking heavy at the bar. I noticed Spooky sat on a beer and iced tea for the night, while most of them downed far too many hard drinks.

Fortunately, all the other customers had left when it happened.

Mulder was sitting closest to the counter near me. Scully was at the other end of the table, talking to West. Now, I have to put this in perspective. I've never, ever seen these guys lose their cool with one another. Raised voices, a punch through the wall a couple of times and some pretty foul language, but that's it. The press had given them a particularly hard time that week, calling for resignations.

Since Mulder was flown out from D.C. and the agents had already started to reshuffle their job assignments and team leaders, the press appeared somewhat mollified. I got the feeling this was a farewell dinner of sorts for those who'd be leaving.

Anyway, I looked up when I heard the language. The big guy, the new one, had gone to the men's room with Busche.

Forenzzi and Mulder were slightly apart from the others.

Forenzzi wore that well-developed smirk of his, then very pointedly leered at Scully. You didn't need to read lips to figure what he was saying. Mulder didn't move and I didn't catch his answer but it was brief and the next thing Forenzzi says, very quietly but distinctly, 'You fucking self-righteous perverted little faggot!' The punctuation was not verbal, but a cracking sound.

It was nothing like those TV punches. And it was sure as hell bloodier than most. I thought Mulder's nose must have been broken. I'm not sure how, but I managed to get to him before anyone else. Maybe it was because Forenzzi was about six inches taller and at least fifty pounds heavier. It sent Mulder across the floor towards me, a trail of blood flying around in a loop, splattering across the wall. I know it sounds weird, but my first though was, I hope to God he doesn't have AIDS because it's going to have to be me that cleans all that blood and mucus off the walls.

Anyway, I reached Mulder with a dishcloth in hand. I'd just picked it up and rinsed it off, it was brand new. The water was icy cold and when he turned his face to look at me I planted it across his cheek. It wasn't his nose after all, but his jaw. Hell, I thought, I wonder if it's broken.

He grimaced, but I'm surprised he felt the cloth. God, that must be so damned painful I thought. You see all these bar room TV brawls and the hero just gets up and keeps on swinging. Maybe a bloody nose, but not gore. Not torn lips and mucus and stuff from his nose and blood and saliva.

God, I was so angry. He was beautiful and that big bastard had broken him, just smashed him. And calling him a faggot?

Okay, I'd heard the rumors and I'd been a bit put out and of course I'm the last one to judge, but after seeing Scully...

Shee-it! Forenzzi was supposed to be an FBI agent and he never saw how Mulder is with his partner? Some detective, no wonder they're not winning on this case.

The damage wasn't that bad I suppose, nothing that wouldn't heal. It was just a kind of reaction to seeing it.

So I held the cloth to his face and ignored the legs and scuffles around me. I suppose about ten, fifteen seconds passed while Mulder's eyes fluttered and he blinked to clear them. Jesus, he was in pain, that was obvious, but he took a couple of deep breaths and moved to stand. He didn't try to pull the cloth from my hand and he stared at me.

Eyes are expressive, but his, well, you could write a book from all the words I saw in those eyes. But the uppermost one was gratitude. Half his mouth, the undamaged side, smiled regretfully and he whispered, "Sorry."

And for the first time ever, I saw him smile with his eyes. Here's the guy lying prone, his jaw probably broken and he's apologizing for messing up the dining room! I wanted to hold him and comfort him and try and put it all back together and make him beautiful again. I couldn't help but think about the last time something like this had happened to me. Good thing there wasn't a gun nearby, that's all I can say.

"Mulder, are you okay?"

I heard her before I saw her drop beside me. What an idiotic question! What do you think? Is he okay! Shit. And she's a doctor, can't she see? What is wrong with these people?

Mulder lifted himself onto his feet and put his hand over mine to hold the dishcloth in place. I let it go as he grabbed the side of a table to balance. Then I distinctly heard him say, "Yeah, I'm okay, just a love tap."

Just a fucking love tap! I looked up at the wall. It was cream. Now it's cream with splattered red strings and polka dots.

Scully took his hand and reached up to take the dish cloth from him. "Mulder, you really must work on your people skills."

I leaned across and pulled out a chair then stuck it behind his legs. I knew he had to sit before he fell because he'd gone white and shaky with shock. But he grinned at Scully's remark and replied "I have been, Scully, it's over seventy-two hours, a record."

It hit me then, they really were a world unto themselves, even within the FBI. Her eyebrow lifted and I think she smirked.

Surreal. Really.

There was still some scuffling behind me and shouting and jack off shit spooky bastards and bum fucking little faggots being thrown around, but I ignored it to watch these two. I wanted to help.

"Think my orthodontist is going to be pissed at me Scully."

Then he spat blood and crap and something white onto the dish cloth. It was a tooth fragment, then another. Well jeez, why was I not surprised, but at least his jaw didn't seem to be broken.

I swung back into the kitchen and scooped a shovel of ice into a fresh terry cloth dishtowel. We bleach our stuff so I knew it would be pretty sterile. Then I raced back outside. By that time four or five people stood around Mulder. About fifteen feet away, Forenzzi and some of the others were still arguing and throwing their arms around.

The guy closest to me was the new one, he must have heard the commotion and come out of the john fast. He was built like a tank and even in profile, I could see he was a bit like these two. He carried no extra weight but the closer I got, the more massive he seemed. He was bald, and wore glasses and his nose looked like it might have been broken once, but it had set cute rather than ugly. Not that you could say anything about this guy was cute, he looked big and dangerous and you could see his temper was just being held in check. I caught the trail end of his sentence just as I started to push my way through them.

"...warned you to not tick off the locals."

I finally spat the dummy, swung on the big guy and said "Cut the guy a break will you?" Then I pushed the bag of ice past him and handed it to Scully. What I'd meant to do was push the big bastard aside and give Mulder the ice personally, but when I shoved my hand at him, it was like pushing an oak tree. My arm slid by, but that was as far as I was getting. I glared up at him, expecting...well I wasn't sure what I was expecting, but resigned amusement was way down on the bottom of the list. Surprisingly he stepped aside, letting me get closer. I heard him tell everyone to break it up and go back to bed, or work or whatever they were supposed to be doing. He ordered Forenzzi to go home and report to him in the morning.

Scully had put the ice in Mulder's hands and she was peering inside his mouth. He obviously had a lot of trouble keeping his jaw open wide enough for her to see.

She pulled back and his words garbled a bit as he said "'Nuthin to see, Scully. Need a coupla crowns maybe, just bruising."

"I'm not so sure Mulder, that cut is deep enough for stitches, especially if you need dental work, your bottom lip will stretch and scar."

"No big deal, it's not like my love life is going to be affected."

"Mulder, I think your lip is big enough as it is without stretching it further."

"You can say that again." The big guy next to me mumbled.

The double meaning was not lost on anyone but Mulder shrugged and stood, holding the ice bag to his face and flashing me a half grin. Then a cell phone rang and another. Next thing about five of the things are going off.

I didn't hear much, mostly yeahs, grunts, oh motherfuckers and son's of bitches. Didn't have to be a mind reader to know something big was up. Then I saw Mulder push Scully's hand away as his whole body sort of froze up. You could feel the walls going up around him and he kept saying "fuck it, fuck it" over and over. Then they all left without another word to me. I could pretty much guess what had happened. I felt like letting a few choice words out myself as my stomach fell. But there was nothing I could do or say. They were lost in their own world now, leaving me to clean off the wall and straighten the mess.

I didn't mind, something to take my mind off it. I sure as hell wasn't going to get any sleep.

One good thing, it's semi-gloss paint, not wall paper, like the other side, so it should clean off okay.

* * *

**Day 6 - Thursday**

**Central Hotel, Seattle**

**5:30 a.m.**

**From the journal of Crystal Palmer**

The big guy came back about 4:30 am. I was supposed to be on midday shift but now I'm no longer at school, I've taken a lot more of the workload. Dulcie's getting too old for these cold mornings. I'm used to pulling all nighters and sleeping in the afternoons during tutorials. That was the great thing about being a tutor, the undergrads asking for help and you telling them, work it our for yourselves. For forty dollars an hour I generally managed at least three, sometimes four, hours sleep during the afternoon lab sessions. That's finished now. I mean, I'm sooo glad I've got my Ph.D., but it's all been headed for this, years and years of it. And now I'm thirty-four years old, widowed and can finally start again.

But getting back to the big guy. He came in and seemed surprised to see me. I suppose it was because I was alone, sitting at a table and reading Katlin's journal on Fluid Dynamics. It deformalized the situation. He introduced himself as A.D. Skinner. I asked him what A.D. stood for, thinking it might be Andrew and hoping Abernathy didn't come into the picture. Turns out it's "assistant," as in "assistant director."

Oh! Isn't that pretty high up? One down from Hoover's old position? I learned later there were many A.D.'s, but it was still impressive. Anyway, he thanked me. I blinked and asked what for.

"For assisting Special Agent Mulder. That was very kind of you."

I blinked again. "Well, what else would I have done?

Forenzzi just about took his head off. Took me an half an hour to clean the blood off the walls."

Skinner's eyebrows lifted. Not much, mind you, but his eyes changed and it struck me he'd never had to clean up after a fight. Or no, not that. Not that at all. Maybe he'd just seen so much blood he, well, he didn't see it anymore unless it was part of a crime scene. I looked in his eyes again and if you ignored the harshness around them, they were rich and deep and brown and you could quietly drown in them. He really was cute behind that steely exterior.

"Have you been up all night?" he asked politely.

"Yeah, didn't feel much like sleep knowing you'd found another one."

He looked at me quizzically. "How did you know?"

I gave him a look. "With every cell phone in the place going off and no one sounding too happy with the news?

C'mon."

But he didn't confirm anything, just asked, "So when do you sleep?"

"I don't need much, four, five hours generally. I can sleep later on today."

"Insomnia?"

I smiled and shook my head. "Dissertation."

"Oh, what in?"

He glanced at the journal I was reading and I thought, that's odd, first time anyone's asked. But then I finally twigged. He was checking me out. Typical cop. Trust no one.

"I have a masters in physics but wanted to branch out into engineering." I put the journal to one side.

Now his right eyebrow really did lift and he looked at me in a totally different way.

"Nearly finished?"

"Have finished," I smiled this time "My supervisor called yesterday and it's official."

"So we should address you as Dr. Popopoulas?"

I chuckled this time. "Bit pompous for a waitress, don't you think? My last name's Palmer, now, not Popopoulas, but please call me Crystal. Another degree doesn't change that."

"Well, on behalf of Agent Mulder and myself, I would like to thank you and apologize for the disturbance."

"How is he? Anything broken?"

Skinner shook his head no. "Mulder's used to being knocked around, comes with the territory. Just a couple of stitches and caps on his teeth."

Just stitches and caps...and that was friendly fire...brother.

I just shook my head.

He ordered breakfast and read the paper while I cooked. He sat at the breakfast bar instead of a table, so I sat down opposite him with my own coffee and asked "You here to take over the case?"

He put his paper to one side and rolled his head in affirmation. I could see he was wrestling with something and, I don't know, it bothered me. There was a great deal about him that had the same tired, wound-up tightness as Mulder, but where Mulder was springy, Skinner looked like he carried it all inside and maybe took it out on a punching bag every now and then.

He looked a bit like he might have been a boxer...but harder somehow. Old boxers often go soft, not this guy. And the way he carried himself, ramrod straight...military.

Yep, I wouldn't mind betting military.

"That explains last night. Not that it was your fault, just that I can understand how frustrating it's been for everyone and now...well, the press and all. I guess Forenzzi's out. Truth to tell, I won't miss him."

I didn't expect an answer, and it surprised me when he replied.

"He's not a bad agent. Mulder just has a way of getting under everyone's skin."

"Mulder's that good, huh?"

Skinner stared at me.

"Well, it doesn't take a genius to figure it out. Prodigies never have an easy time and are not generally known for their social skills. I should know, I studied under enough of them. Forenzzi's by the book, and according to everyone here, hates Mulder's guts going way, way back. As for Mulder, well...his eyes...something there makes you want to run screaming for the nearest exit, or take him in your arms and tell him it'll be all right. Definitely not Forenzzi's type, in fact not most FBI types from what I've seen. To cap it off, it started over something Forenzzi said about Agent Scully."

Skinner's expression hardly altered, but he somehow managed to look stunned "You're very observant. What did he say in reference to Agent Scully?"

"Being seen as simply a waitress has its advantages.

Forenzzi's a leerer...is there such a word? He's from the old school that thinks a pass is his prerogative and a slap on the butt is not sexual harassment. No big deal, but he was smirking at Agent Mulder while he threw one of his less polite leers at Agent Scully. I didn't hear what he said, but you don't have to be a psychologist to pick up it was something below the belt. I didn't hear Mulder's reply, either, but there was hardly time for him to form a complete sentence when Forenzzi let fly.

"I don't suppose it helped that since Sunday, Forenzzi's more than hinted that Mulder is not only gay, but has a few additional kinks thrown in for good measure. You want another cup?"

He looked down at this cup absently and realized it was empty. I could see the wheels turning behind those glasses.

"Mulder gay," he muttered absently. But the look in his eyes, the slightly raised eyebrow and infinitesimal smile said it all. Mulder might be many things, it said, but gay was sure as hell not on the notice board, let alone the same list. I was glad I was right. Given my track record, I knew I could have been way off base. But Skinner's face now confirmed it. Well at least I didn't have to think about that aspect anymore.

"No, thanks anyway, I better get going."

I nodded and began cleaning up. I had a lot to do and wanted to free my mind before going out with Dad. We rarely just get to talk, the two of us, without half the family having their say, particularly about my future. Despite the lack of sleep, I felt better than I had in weeks, maybe months. I suppose I was really feeling the pressure over my thesis, as well as having all this going down. Now, one pressure is gone, I can cope with the FBI better.

I still don't like, them, of course. Nothing will ever change that. But I don't hate them anymore.

* * *

**Day 6 - Thursday**

**City Morgue, Seattle**

**5:30 am**

Her fingers finally began to shake as she stripped the latex from them.

"Okay Dani, you can put her away now." Scully spoke quietly to the assisting diener. She noted absently that Webster was also looking grimmer than when they'd started.

Scully reached up to click off the tape machine and sighed softly.

"You think you get used to it," Dani Webser said, "but sometimes, it hits you right in the solar plexus."

Scully turned to face the diener and replied, "Kids are always the worst, but when they're dismembered like this it's...it's a desecration, the perfidy of evil." Scully looked up and asked "Do you have children?"

Webster expertly arranged the remains into a configuration that approximated a complete human. But the gross parody of normalcy was not lost on her.

"Yeah, but I've always handled it okay, even when they bring in kids that look a bit like mine, like this one. But you're right, this feels...different." Suddenly her eyes caught the FBI agent's and she chuckled, "Please don't ever tell..."

Scully smiled and pushed a stray hair from her face, then leaned back against the bench. "Never. Right now, I'm just furious that it wasn't picked up before. This is absolutely critical to the profile."

"You found the same thing on the two shipped to D.C.?"

"Right. At first, I thought it was secondary damage due to the manner in which the body parts were hung, but this pretty well concludes it. I'll need to talk to the victim's mother." Scully couldn't quite bring herself to give the pitiful remains currently being bagged a name. "The missing right toenail appears to be from a prior accident, possibly a bruise or previous infection."

Scully shook her head. She did not normally discuss results with the dieners. The morgue assistants picked up most of what was going on anyway, just by the verbal nature of note-taking. But both women had been affected by this autopsy. Finding new evidence justified their belief in themselves that their jobs were not only important, but critical in pinpointing and capturing those who perpetrate such evil. Both now took comfort in that justification.

Scully went into the showers and stripped her scrubs, vaguely annoyed that the room was small and open, instead of featuring private cubicles. She turned on the hot water and began to soap up, trying to remove the pervasive stench of death. Her olfactory nerves had become somewhat immunized over the years, then the cancer stripped away those senses even further. However, she was sensitive to the reactions of others, particularly Mulder. She'd once forgone a shower because he was in a hurry. Two miles driving in desert heat and no air conditioning and she'd shrugged, telling him he only had himself to blame. He never hurried her after that.

The diener walked in. Catching Scully's eye, she quipped "Don'cha just love our equal opportunity showers?"

Scully snorted "I've been in worse. Most places don't even consider female amenities. Women don't do autopsies and don't work in law enforcement."

Webster pulled off her own scrubs and said "You gotta be kidding me?"

Scully smiled as she turned her face up to the showerhead.

"Oh, no, and it's not always in the little hick towns, either.

You've never come across it?"

"I'm too low down the totem pole to be considered that way.

I don't inspire jealousy and let's face it, that's what's generally behind attitudes like that."

Scully turned her head to one side and considered how similar Webster's observation paralleled Agent West's. She idly wondered what the M.E.'s reaction would be when she wrote up her autopsy report. Pissed, big time, no doubt.

Scully would normally go out of her way to avoid overt, or even implied criticism of another pathologist, but under the circumstances and the intense efforts behind these murders, his failures were at best, sloppy.

Webster decided to phrase the question as a comment, telling herself it was to prepare for the coming storm.

"You know of course that most of the early autopsies were performed by different pathologists. But what you probably don't know is sometimes, well, it gets pretty hectic around here and..."

Scully turned off the faucet and reached for a towel, resisting the temptation to reply that it did not excuse sloppy procedures or in this case, assumptions.

Webster continued. "Anyway, the M.E. has been known to sign off on work he hasn't done. If the press gets a hold of this..."

Scully actually glared at the diener. Could she be implying..?

Webster had turned off the shower and reaching for a towel herself, did not see the warning look on Scully's face. "I mean this whole damned situation has been plagued from the beginning. The press has gotten hold of stuff that could only have been leaked from this office. If this gets out, now..."

The diener finally saw Scully's eyes and it chilled her.

"Hey, I'm sorry. It's not my place to speak. All I'm saying is, when Harqua learns of this, he'll bury himself deeper into the bottle than he already is, and somehow, the press may just learn about it, not just what you've found, but that it should've been discovered before now.

"Everyone's denying the leak is from here, they're blaming you guys, the feds, but that's crap, because the leaks have been going on from the start. I want this evil son of a bitch, or sons of bitches put down just as much, if not more than you do. I got kids. Right now, we're the only two people aware of these new findings and the more who are, the more shit will go down because of it. All I'm doing is pointing out those facts. What you do with it is up to you."

Scully said nothing while she finished dressing. Goddammit!

She hated coming into these places and finding petty machinations stewing. As if the fucking cases weren't complicated enough as it were. And of course, most everyone scrambled to protect their own butts. Fucking departmental politics -- Forenzzi and his cronies and now this crap.

She sighed. Same old, same old. But the diener had volunteered to come down and assist, speeding the entire process by at least two hours.

Smiling slightly at Webster, Scully replied "Thanks for letting me know, and for coming down to help at this god-awful time in the morning. I know it could have been left till later, but my partner and I feel every hour is critical. We've vindicated that by establishing they take trophies. As to the politics...I'll leave that up to my boss and the PR guys. I can't and won't protect this office from criticism, and now it looks like we're going to need those disinterment orders..."

"Hey, Scully, you in there?" Mulder's voice interrupted through the door.

"Hang on, Mulder, I'll be right out."

Scully did not bother to apply makeup as she was going to get Mulder, make him go back to the hotel and consume about five milkshakes, then get to bed.

She found him sitting slumped on a stool, head resting in his arms. He looked up and Scully sucked in her breath. His face was clouded and one side was swollen and blue, matching the blue circles under his eyes. His nose was puffy and a blue shadow spread underneath one eye. His five o'clock shadow had grown into a two and a half day beard.

There were tiny, neat cross hatched stitches on his blue and swollen lower lip. He looked about as bad as she'd ever seen him outside of a hospital bed.

The look on her face must have given it away and he said "I'm not as bad as I look, really," but it came out garbled.

Scully had forced the issue and stitched his lip right there on the premises of the latest gruesome site. The victim had been found in yet another historical district backyard.

This time, however, a neighbor's dog alerted the owners to the horrific thing hanging on the line. They had been out for the evening and only just returned and entered their home by the front door when the constant barking provoked Sam Curtis into flooding the back porch with lights. He was met with a sight he'd hoped never to witness after his days in Vietnam.

Within minutes, the street was overflowing with police and unmarked cars erupting grim faced people. Somehow, Mulder, Scully and Skinner managed to access the backyard first.

Such a break was a welcome relief to Scully...but then she was not so sure after seeing the almost manic look on Mulder's face. He refused to allow anyone near the remains for at least an hour, begrudgingly letting the forensics team in only because the temperature dropped and clouds blocked the stars. It would likely snow soon.

Scully could not believe their further good luck when it turned out the owner of the house was a dental surgeon with offices in the adjoining building. Scully managed to stitch Mulder's lip while the remains were being bagged for the trip to the morgue. She'd convinced Mulder there was nothing to do but wait until she'd finished the autopsy and that he had time to have his teeth attended to. They were small victories but when it came to Mulder in profiler mode, she considered them significant.

"So whatcha got for me, G-woman?"

"You first, Mulder, how are your teeth?"

"Two temporary caps. Should last a week or so. What did you find?"

Their footsteps echoed through the empty rooms as she replied, "Okay, this one was the left-hander, small object penetration. More damage done to sever the head than the right-hander, two distinct blades again. According to the other CS photos each foot has been strung on the lines with a neat hole drilled through the large toe. Doesn't make a lot of sense when they could have simply pierced the flesh.

But it conceals the fact that they are excising the large toenails. In the first autopsies I did, the evidence was only partially conclusive due to damage to the toes. In this last case, the right toenail was naturally missing.

Probably a bruise or local infection, nothing unusual though I need to check with the parents -- except that as you pointed out, this right foot was hung through a hole drilled between the first and second metacarpal just below the big toe, and the second toe tip is missing. When I examined the left foot, the drill hole all but covers up the fact that the left big toenail was excised, but there is no mistake."

"They're taking trophies, Scully."

"Looks that way."


	6. Chapter 5

**Day 6 - Thursday**

**Central Hotel, Seattle**

**5:50 am**

"Take it, Mulder, it's just a mix of vitamins. If you won't eat, you should at least drink this."

Mulder ignored her as he pulled off his bloodstained tie and shirt. Between her stitches and the dentist, his jaw felt like shit. He couldn't talk without dribbling like a fucking baby and had a feeling it would get worse.

He knew she'd be on his back all morning, so he shrugged and took the glass. He frowned and screwed up his nose when he saw the bright red color. Turning to her, his eyes asked what the fuck was this shit?

Not for the first time, Scully wondered if she should seek an iridologist's advice about Mulder's eye language. She had never met another human being who could swear so profusely with an iris.

"It's just vitamins, Mulder. Shut up and drink it."

His eyes gave her back equal lip, but he downed the contents of the glass in a few gulps, then spat a few more expletives at her with his lashes.

He sat down and pulled off his shoes and socks while Scully rummaged around in her bag and found a bottle of pills. She poured three into her hand and said "Take these, too."

He was beginning to get seriously pissed with her mothering. Now, she was trying to numb his brain when he needed to concentrate. The pain helped, the last thing he wanted was painkillers.

"Scully, look, just leave me alone will you? I need to get these profiles revised. I need to concentrate."

"Mulder, they're just aspirin," Scully persisted, holding them out for him to see.

His eyes blazed and he turned on her, accidentally knocking the pills from her hand. But the expected apology was not forthcoming. Instead he said "You're not my fucking wife, Scully, so cut the nagging!"

She pulled back, stunned at his outburst. His absolute refusal to eat bothered her. He'd eaten sparingly the night before and the smell of his breath in the morgue told her he'd probably lost that sometime during the night, possibly as a result of the local anesthesia she'd administered for the stitches. He'd reacted similarly in the past.

As he pulled off his undershirt, her eyes narrowed. It was not really that noticeable, but he had definitely lost weight. Could it have all been in the last few days? Was he keeping anything down at all?

Scully started to speak, but he had undone his belt and pulled his trousers, shorts and all, down to his ankles.

Scully barely turned away in time, but he was heedless of her presence as he went to the bathroom and turned on the shower, not bothering to close the bathroom door. Scully frowned, in all the years they had traveled together, he had never, ever, casually stripped naked in front of her.

Sure they'd walked in on each other occasionally. But they'd averted their eyes, mumbled an apology and never been embarrassed. It was an unavoidable fact of being on top of each other all the time. No big deal. But the way in which he had done it just then was as if he'd erected a huge wall between them. He was absolutely, totally indifferent to her presence. She simply did not matter.

Somehow, that bothered her more than his outburst of temper.

Scully spent a few minutes tidying his room and collecting his soiled laundry. She opened his room door and hung a 'do not disturb' sign on it, then returned to her own room, pulling the adjoining door closed, but not latching it. She needed to change clothes and eat something before starting on her own report. All she could safely do now was just be there for him, keep an eye and ear out, ignore his outbursts and try and keep the fluids up.

But first, she also allowed herself a moment to lay on the end of her bed and soundly curse the bastards who demanded this of him.

* * *

**Day 10 - Monday**

**Paco's Coffee Shop - Seattle**

**8:15 a.m.**

Despite the hotel coffee being immeasurably superior, after the short, but bitter, confrontation with Mulder, Scully had opted for a cafe a few doors down from the hotel. Not, she thought, that what they'd had was an argument exactly.

It does, after all, take two people to do that. In this case, she'd talked and he'd ignored her. And right now, she wanted to avoid all company as she tried to figure out how best to help her partner.

It had been four days since the last victim had been recovered. Scully had cornered Mulder long enough to insist his stitches be removed and she took the opportunity to berate him about his eating, or lack of it. She'd finally revealed the fact that she'd heard him throwing up at all hours of the nights and wanted to give him something to settle his stomach and a multi-vitamin shot.

"Dam it Mulder, you can't run on empty. You are not going to do yourself or these kids any good if you get sick and collapse from exhaustion. And you are sure as hell headed in that direction. If you're suffering some sort of bulimia..."

He'd rolled his eyes at her.

"All right, well, there must be a reason you're not keeping anything down. If it's a stomach bug..."

He blinked in frustration as she snipped the tiny stitches across his lip. The swelling had almost gone but the bruising was still evident around his jaw and nose.

Forenzzi's giant sized hand had torn the edge of Mulder's left nostril, too, but it appeared to be healing nicely.

She would have liked to have examined the inside of his mouth, but the way he held himself told her to forget it.

She kept up a running dialogue and finished with the announcement that she was going to give him a vitamin shot whether he liked it or not. The moment the last stitch was out, he'd shot up from the chair and grabbing his car keys and coat, walked out the door without a word. Scully just stood there with the scissors in hand, knowing it was useless to follow.

And so she'd gone to the coffee shop, only to be found by the one person she really did not wish to see, Forenzzi.

"This seat taken?" he asked as he slid into the bench seat opposite.

Scully froze in mid-sip and glared at him stonily.

He actually pulled back for a moment, surprised at the intensity of her look. Good God, little Dana was rather formidable. He'd have to watch himself. He held up his hands and rolled his head to one side in an apologetic gesture. "Hey, you have every reason to tell me to get my butt outta here. I made a complete ass out of myself the other night and you deserve an explanation, and an apology."

Scully continued to glare at him "It's Mulder you should be apologizing to."

Forenzzi glanced away, unable to concede that point, "Dana, look, I know he's your partner..." Forenzzi stopped and rubbed his hands over his face trying to figure out how best to tackle this.

Scully's face had taken on a more neutral pose. Forenzzi foolishly did not recognize it as her about-to-kick-buttbig-time face. She was incredulous at this man's actions against Mulder and fairly sure he was the source of some rather unpleasant rumors. She was accustomed to little green men ridicule and snide, beam me up Scotties when it came to Mulder, but this new take on things was worse because any denial she might make was a two-edged sword.

Forenzzi looked up and began "Look, Dana, I know it's been twelve years, but we were close once and I thought I...well, I thought I knew you well enough to believe you were a pretty straight arrow. And that's why this is bothering me so much."

He scratched his head in a nervous gesture. Nothing about Scully's face or posture gave anything away to him. Mulder, however, would have recognized all the warning signals and headed for the nearest bomb shelter.

"I know you've worked with the guy for years and I know you're an extraordinarily loyal person. And I can understand how that loyalty is extended to the FBI as a whole. I respect and admire that, I really do. But I knew Mulder before you and I've seen things he'd naturally hide from a woman. Look, I'm not questioning your relationship with him, that's between the two of you, but just for a moment, I'd ask you try and see it from my perspective."

Scully tucked her chin in and pursed her lips. "It was not Mulder's decision to be sent here. I fully appreciate how difficult it must be for you to stand aside while Skinner, not Mulder, takes control of this case..."

Forenzzi waved it aside. "No, Dana, you have it all wrong.

Look, I'll be the first to admit that Spook...Mulder's profiles have generated new avenues of approach. I'm not criticizing his talents. It's just that...surely you can see the hypocrisy in using someone like Mulder to run a case like this?"

"No, Joe, I don't. Would you care to enlighten me how hypocrisy comes into it?"

"You mean you really don't know?" He looked at her incredulously.

Scully was fast losing whatever patience she might have had. "I doubt that you could enlighten me about anything, Joe. I had thought your temper might have cooled a little in the years since we first met. Clearly, that is not the case. Now if you'll excuse me..." She stood to leave.

Forenzzi placed a hand gently on Scully's sleeve. "Please, Dana, just...please give me the courtesy of your time. Just a few minutes. I know I don't deserve it, but...please?"

Scully sighed and against her better judgement, sat down again. "Okay Joe, but make it fast, I have to get back down to the morgue."

He nodded once. "Look, I honestly thought you knew about Mulder. In fact when I first heard they'd partnered you with him, I figured they'd done so because you were a doctor. When he was in the BSU, they kept a psychiatrist with him a lot of the time, not a partner, another one of the profilers, but he could prescribe drugs to keep Mulder in line."

Scully frowned. What in hell was Forenzzi talking about?

"Dana, we all know the FBI keeps a few kooks lying around.

And we both know that genius borders on madness and Mulder fits in that category. But I could never reconcile his tastes in...porn...with what he did."

Scully began to frown. What the hell did Mulder's porn tastes have to do with...oh, oh come on! He had to be kidding? Right? Scully had no desire to see anything of Mulder's video or magazine collection, but she had inadvertently been exposed to it over the years. Some of it was pretty rabid stuff, but still mainstream. The only homosexuality in any of them leaned heavily towards all girl romps, not exactly unusual fare for a very heterosexual male like Mulder. But Forenzzi was implying...What exactly was Forenzzi implying?

"Forenzzi, spreading rumors about a fellow agents sexual predilections..."

Forenzzi realized he wasn't going to be able to pussyfoot around this one so he simply blurted it out, "Dana, these are not rumors. I've personally seen what he does. Look, I'm trying to give you a heads up here. I've got to face an OPR review tomorrow evening in D.C. and I have every intention of telling them what I think of them for protecting a guy who gets his jollies over pictures of dead boys then puts him in charge of a fucking pedophile investigation!"

His voice had risen noticeably, attracting the sharp ears of the tabloid reporter seated in the next booth. The reporter nearly gagged on his eggs when he heard the outburst. He knew Forenzzi. Knew he was a asshole, too, but straight as an arrow. So what was this shit?

Scully's anger overwhelmed her, but she kept her voice so low, the reporter could hardly hear her. "You bastard. Where the hell do you get off making unfounded accusations like that? It's a good thing you've been pulled from this because you have clearly lost all perspective. Spreading a rumor that Mulder is gay was bad enough, petty minded rubbish, but this..."

"Yeah? Well we'll see about that when I tell the OPR what happened ten years ago in Michigan. I saw it, Dana, with my own eyes, and what I find incredulous is that your loyalty to the FBI would allow you to...shit...I've watched you with him. I've seen the way you two look at each other...and it sickens the hell out of me to think you're actually part of his fucked up little world. Jesus, Dana, what ever happened to you? I knew you liked it a little kinky sometimes but this? What do you two do together, get your jollies in front of his videos..."

The words were hardly out of his mouth when Scully finally lost her temper. The last time she could ever recall doing that was when she was twelve years old and had walloped Bill. It had hurt her fist something fierce but the satisfaction of Bill's bloody nose had been more than worth it.

This time, she remembered to curl her fingers in her hand before straight arming Forenzzi in the nose. Her fist still hurt, but again, the blood and reddened eyes had been well worth the effort.

"Please feel free to report my actions to the OPR, _Agent_ Forenzzi, I would be more than happy to explain to them the reasons for my unprofessional conduct. I would also be more than happy to explain that, in my professional opinion, your righteous indignation leads me to suspect a transferal of motivations."

"You little bitch!" Forenzzi had finally recovered from the shock and pain of the unexpected blow "Are you trying to imply that you think _I_...!"

"If the shoe fits, Forenzzi. I'm recommending a psychiatric evaluation of..."

But he grabbed Scully by the coat and began to pull her across the table, pain and mindless rage obliterating whatever sense he had left.

The reporter in the next booth stood to watch the foray, but even he was stunned at the scene playing out before him. Unbeknownst to either Scully or Forenzzi, Skinner and Busche had chosen the coffee shop for the same reasons as Scully, to get away from the crowds of agents in the hotel restaurant. At least that was what Skinner told himself.

The truth was, he noticed that one of the owner's sons was looking after the restaurant that morning and somehow, it hadn't held quite the same appeal.

Forenzzi suddenly found himself deadlocked by a furious A.D. Skinner. "What the hell are you doing, Forenzzi?"

The A.D. spat out through clenched teeth.

Forenzzi had a good seven inches on Skinner's height, but he was not nearly as heavily built and therefore found it impossible to break the A.D.'s vice grip.

Skinner was surprised at the blood on the bigger man's face. He glanced swiftly at Scully and noticed her nursing her left fist while she straightened her coat. His eyebrow rose in surprise and his nostrils dilated in annoyance "Would someone like to enlighten me here?"

Scully sucked in her cheeks and remained stonily silent.

Skinner expected no less.

"Scully?" he tried again "Agent Scully, I want you in my..." he suddenly remembered he had set up his hotel room as an office "...room in ten minutes. At that time I will expect a full explanation of events. I thought I'd made it very clear that neither I, not the director will tolerate personal agendas on this case. Do you understand?"

Scully's eyes narrowed. "Yes sir."

Meanwhile, Busche had positioned himself to effectively block anyone in the coffee shop from coming closer.

Fortunately, patronage was limited to a one couple and a single male...oh shit. Busche recognized the reporter. He turned to Skinner and motioned with his eyes to the journalist. Skinner recognized the warning look and immediately dropped Forenzzi's arms. The big agent scowled and reached across to the napkin tray. Grabbing a fistful, he brought then to his nose and glared insolently at the A.D. and ASAC. "You two part of the cover-up as well?

Jesus, Busche, I warned you about Mulder."

Busche shook his head. "Joe, I know how you feel about this whole thing, but your judgement is clouded on this. My advice to you is step back before you get yourself in any deeper."

Forenzzi sneered. "I'm not standing by and letting this slide. Not for you, not for the FBI and not for that little ass fuck..."

"Forenzzi!" Busche glared at him. "One more crack out of you and I'll have you arrested. Is that what you want?"

The big man finally realized he had no choice but to back off. For now. His time would come tomorrow at the OPR. And if they tried to shut him up...no, not this time. This time he'd make sure someone knew about Mulder and did something. He pulled his coat around him and glaring one last time at Scully, threw the bloodied napkins on the table and stormed out.

Scully breathed deeply and with a last look at Skinner and Busche, left the restaurant.

Busche turned to the reporter, but clenched his teeth when he realized the man had already left. Shit.

* * *

"All right, Agent Scully, would you care to enlighten me on what just transpired between two federal agents in a public restaurant?"

Scully sat stone faced in front of Skinner. The A.D. had, within a few days, turned his hotel room into an office, complete with a large desk and laptop pushed to one side and a lounge suite for more informal discussions. Right now, Scully found herself in a hard backed chair facing her boss across the table. The only incongruity was an unmade bed in the corner.

"Agent Scully, don't mistake that as a request, I expect an answer. A complete answer."

Scully collected her thoughts, trying to find some way of explaining her loss of temper.

Skinner looked at her closely. "Scully, I'm going to take a wild stab at this and suggest it stems from Forenzzi's attack on Agent Mulder the other evening."

Scully continued to stare at Skinner in silence. But she was no poker player and she knew Skinner would see the truth on her face, especially in light of his sarcasm.

"I'm going to further suggest Forenzzi inferred something regarding your relationship with Mulder and the fact that he's been circulating some crap about Agent Mulder's sexual orientation."

Scully's eyebrows rose a notch. "Sir, since Congress made its decision regarding homosexuality in the military, the FBI uses the military's jurisdiction over Quantico to comply with that mandate. That may not affect current agents, but it does have an impact on current attitudes.

Unfounded as the accusations may be, it's another way to undermine Agent Mulder's credibility in the eyes of his peers. Vicious, long-clawed alien comments I can accept, because there is some foundation in the remarks.

However..." Scully petered off, her righteous ire blocking her ability to continue.

Having already learned of the rumors from Crystal Palmer, Skinner waited, sure there was more behind it than that.

"However," Scully continued in a frigid voice, "accusations of the FBI hiding Agent Mulder's predilection to pedophilia are beyond..."

"What!" Skinner sat forward, his eyes narrowing in cold fury. He had _not_ heard that. Shit...had Mulder been on a case with Patterson where Forenzzi had been stationed?

Could he have possibly seen...? Fuck it! His eyes stopped Scully cold and he grabbed for the phone.

"Busche, I want Forenzzi placed into custody immediately.

Warn him to keep his mouth shut, not one word about _anything_ and I want him accompanied back to D.C. on the next available flight. He'll be met at the airport and transferral of custody...No, no I'll be speaking to the director myself...Yes, that's right." Skinner rang off then punched a longer series of buttons.

"Sir, it appears Forenzzi who was heading up the local team here is partially aware of the contents of that file..."

Scully felt her stomach give out from under her. Until that moment she had been absolutely certain Forenzzi's accusations were the delusions of an overstressed mind. Now the facts began clicking into place. The FBI was covering up something, something about Mulder, about pedophilia. Oh God in heaven, anything but that. Not Mulder...surely? She would have known she _must_ have known. There had to be another explanation, but as Skinner kept talking Scully felt her whole world topple.

"Yes sir, I'm afraid that's right. It was probably only a matter of time before Agent Scully had to be informed..."

Scully sat frozen in sick horror.

"...have it couriered here by this afternoon for her to examine. Yes sir I believe that's the wisest course of action...No, no sign of it yet but then I have not seen Agent Mulder in this situation before so there is no way of predicting when or if he'll...Yes sir. Thank you."

Scully tried to get a grip on herself, but her breathing came in short gasps.

Oh, God, anything but that...Please God, let him be gay, let him be impotent... _anything_ but a pedophile! And if the FBI were protecting him, protecting some crime that he had committed...In Michigan? Is that what Forenzzi had said? Ten years ago? If they were protecting him in order to use him...What was it that Skinner had said in her apartment? That the director had been extremely reluctant to bring Mulder in on the case...something about a promise ten years before...Oh, Jesus, no please, please, no! And now they expected...they would use, attempt to use her loyalty to Mulder to protect the FBI and him from...from what?

Revealing what she knew? Revealing that he had hurt...Oh dear God, _no_!

Skinner was talking to her, but the words were not getting through.

"Agent Scully?" Skinner frowned. Scully's face had drained of all color and...oh shit. He suddenly realized the effect this was having on her. He stood up from his desk and walked around to where she sat, he eyes wide and jaw twitching.

Skinner crouched in front of Scully and took her hands to capture her attention.

"Dana, listen to me,"

Scully finally looked up at the unfamiliar use of her first name.

"This is not what you are thinking. Forenzzi has..."

Skinner closed his eyes and shook his head "Look, I can't really explain. The director has a sealed file in his office, a file on Mulder that only three people within the Bureau are privy to. He's having it security couriered here today. It should arrive sometime tonight.

Once you read that file you'll understand."

Scully finally found her voice. "Understand what, Sir?"

Skinner knew he could not explain the contents of that file properly, so he stood and walked back around to the other side of his desk. "Scully, it's not what you think...it's an aspect of Mulder that...look, just wait until the file gets here and read it for yourself. And stop worrying, Mulder is _not_ a pedophile for Christ's sake. And he's done nothing illegal. It's just that the contents are...unusual and kept under wraps for reasons that will become evident when you read it."

Skinner sighed, took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Agent Scully, this is one of the few times I completely concur with cancerman."

"He...he knows about this?"

Skinner looked at her closely. "Why do you think Mulder's been kept alive all these years?"

He shook his head at her stunned stare. She couldn't possibly have any idea. Not until she read that file.

and maybe, probably not even then. She simply would not believe it.

Scully quickly moved to recover her normal poise, but it was only a facade. No matter what Skinner said, there was something about Mulder that had been hidden, hidden at the highest level. Something Forenzzi had witnessed...

no matter how Skinner phrased it, she felt like something vital had been ripped from her heart. It was as if her spirit had been torn out and stomped on.

Scully pulled her professional walls about her as Skinner's phone rang. He answered it and looked up at Scully, clearly needing privacy. She stood, gratified her legs continued to support her.

"I'll call you when the file arrives," Skinner cupped the mouthpiece and whispered.

Scully nodded and left.

She immediately went into her room and for the first time since her cancer treatment, threw up until her head ached.

* * *

**Day 10 - Monday**

**Coroner's Office, Seattle**

**5:30 p.m.**

The previous days had already been a nightmare blur of court orders and ugly arguments, even uglier press and a partner who distanced himself from her with cutting remarks and rude dismissals. Scully felt like she was locked in a miasmic haze between showdowns and decomposing remains. But none of it had impacted on her like the morning's revelations - or lack of them.

Scully had tried to push all thoughts of it aside as she concentrated on the work at hand. They had agreed to disinter only those victims unclaimed by friends or relatives. Street kids. Although decomposition had made it difficult and in some cases impossible to ascertain if the murderer was left or right handed, enough torsos were examined to lend credibility to her theory, despite the M.E.'s vehement insistence that such evidence did not exist.

She had more luck with the toenail trophies. Minute examination of the victims large toes indicated the nail had been excised post mortem.

Following Mulder's revised profiles, the FBI was burrowing through, among other things, a convoluted and ugly trail of porn movie makers. Specifically snuff movies. There were aspects of that no-one could see related to the way the bodies were dumped. Traditionally, snuff movies used imports, frequently Mexican girls and boys, then carefully disposed of the bodies. But Mulder was sure it would lead somewhere.

Someone, somehow leaked the trophy aspect to the press.

Friday's papers were filled with criticisms and calls for resignations from the coroner's office. After a round of snide comments and less than helpful attitudes at the morgue on Saturday, Scully had gratefully worked alone over the weekend. No dieners were available to assist but the small bodies were not difficult to lift and carry.

That Monday morning she had been asked to sign the release papers for the bodies she'd examined in D.C. to be returned to Seattle. Scully agreed to have them returned, but refused to release them on the basis that something more might yet be learned. In a fit of unprofessional pique the M.E., Harqua, told the parents he saw no reason for Scully's action. That resulted in a call to the papers and more hounding press as she'd tried to grab lunch.

To cap off one of the shittiest days in her life, she'd spent twenty minutes trying to find written notes that had apparently gone _missing_ while she showered and changed.

She found them dropped in a bag of biological refuse. The incident had not set her back. The notes were only copies from prior work and she had already finished for the day, but such open hostility might retard, possibly endanger the investigation. She wordlessly pulled the notes from the bag, dropped them in a plastic folder and proceeded to dump them on the M.E.'s desk, sans folder. The resultant argument had left her depleted and vulnerable and totally unable to cope with the flashes from newspaper camera's and bright videocam lights that greeted her exit from the coroner's office.

She'd wanted to park in the underground parking to avoid just this sort of thing, but there had been no available spaces when she'd arrived mid-morning. If it were not for the lights, she might have seen the slick patches of ice on the edges of the steps. But then again, she thought later, maybe not.

Scully rarely gave much thought to her diminutive size, but as she jostled her way through the press, he eyebrows grew together. She'd reached a point where she was just about to flash her badge and threaten to arrest the next pencil wielding asshole for obstruction of justice when her heel slipped on the ice and she fell. No one bothered to try and help her up, in fact more flash lights went off and she could just visualize what the press would do with that _FBI agents falling down on the job_. Oh joy.

Suddenly a large black-clad body appeared amongst the throng. She looked up into Skinner's threatening eyes and sighed. Great, just great.

Leading Scully to his car, he divested her of her keys and tossed them to agent Smith. With the door finally sealing out the shouted questions, Scully closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths.

"Thank you, sir."

"No problem, Agent Scully."

"How did you know?"

"The director."

Scully grimaced. Oh fucking joyous day. Maybe she could get together with Mulder and sing an out of tune duet of zippity-doo-dah. But the insidious half-revelations of the morning came to the fore and she closed her eyes. Her partner...

Skinner's words pulled her back to the present. "Seems the M.E. is unhappy."

Scully felt herself bristle, God what else could go wrong today? "Sir, if you are questioning my..."

Skinner shook his head vehemently. "On the contrary, he and three of the pathologists are about to find themselves among the ranks of the unemployed. There is no room in this investigation for petty interagency rivalries. We've also discovered the press leaks have originated from here.

You have been on this case less than a week and have made more progress than anyone in the past eighteen months."

"It's not just me, sir. Agent Mulder..."

"Scully, just for once, take credit where credit is due.

Nobody, at least nobody who matters, underestimates Mulder's role in this. His latest profiles are sheer brilliance. Despite his misgivings and the skepticism of his detractors, it gives us a hell of a lot to work with.

There are some very positive leads out of all of this. An investigation that could, to date, only be described as uninspired, now has a new lease. But much of that has been in no small part due to your findings."

Scully finally allowed herself to relax. Now all she had to do was find Mulder and run a few ideas past him, hopefully without getting her head snapped off. But could she face him, knowing that he harbored some dark, ugly secret about...what? Skinner made no mention of the file.

She hadn't really expected it until later tonight.

Meanwhile, she had to push those thoughts aside. She had to force herself to deal with the Mulder she thought she knew. What else would be revealed in the near future must wait until then.


	7. Chapter 6

**Day 10 - Monday**

**Seattle**

**8 p.m.**

He felt the rhythmic thumping of his heart as his feet pounded the pavement. Thump, thump thump. He wished he could close his eyes and let the pounding permeate his soul. Blood filling his veins, his arteries.

Blood.

He would see blood tonight. A lot of blood as it filled and overflowed the rhythmic pounding as he fucked him.

Mulder almost tripped as the imagery slammed into him.

Shit.

It was happening.

How long did he have before it pushed him aside and took control?

His momentary panic drove it away and he slowed his pace and glanced around, trying to forget that somewhere in the city a young boy was cowering in terror.

Blood.

He would see blood tonight and his body would thrum.

No!

Mulder clutched at his head. Oh Lord do I have to let this happen? Step aside and let it take complete and utter control?

Goddammit! It wouldn't be so bad if it simply threw him to one side, used his body then let him back in when it was finished. Oh no, that would be too easy. He had to remain and witness it. He had to witness it, otherwise what was the point? That _was_ the point.

No Patterson, no poor damned Grahams, no long dead Webster to serve as its witness. Not this time.

Thank Christ he was alone. He just had to find somewhere safe.

Pound, pound, thump, thump, let the heart push the blood through his veins. Look around, how to maximize the effect? If this was going to happen to him, he had to get the most out of it, no pussyfooting around.

Pound, pound as you fuck him and the blood flows.

Nausea welled up in him. A child would die soon and he could do nothing to prevent it. God help me one more must die. God help him, one more must be sacrificed that he might save them all.

It was the only way...

Pound pound thump thump, I'm coming to get you little one.

Where? There! Perfect! Had he subconsciously run here?

He reached into his pocket. Jesus he had had the good sense to put one in? So far, so good, you were doing something right tonight Mulder.

Be prepared.

Good little Boy Scout.

He was a Boy Scout too.

Pound pound thump thump smell the fear.

Oh Christ he was not prepared for this, not again!

Ten years, Jesus wept he had gone without this for ten years.

Ten years.

Ten years the boy was, just ten years old.

Pound him, thump into him, see the blood, let it flow as you get ready to fuck him.

Get ready to kill.

* * *

Scully's high heels echoed through the cold, deserted rooms as she returned to the autopsy bay. She couldn't understand why Mulder would be there, unless it was to look for her. They had not made a specific meeting place for dinner, she had just assumed it would be in the restaurant.

When he hadn't answered her knock at seven, she'd checked his room. Soiled clothes lay scattered about the floor, but no sign the bathroom had been used. His cell phone was not answering, no surprise if he'd gone for a run. As ridiculous as it seemed in that weather she knew it cleared his mind.

Half an hour searching the hotel brought her up empty handed. At first, Scully was inclined to dismiss it, after all it wouldn't be the first time he'd gone off without telling anyone. But his car was in the parking lot. Hell, she thought, maybe he's taken a fall on the ice. Her own ankle still hurt from tripping earlier in the evening. A flush of fear arced through her body and the words kept coming back to her...pedophilia. God where was he? Could he have become another Patterson? Was he right now, on the prowl for some young...? Oh, Jesus, no! Skinner had said he was not _that_...but what?

Her cell phone rang. "Scully."

"Agent Scully, this is West. Look, I know it sounds kinda odd, but I thought I just saw Agent Mulder going into the morgue."

Scully frowned, trying to keep her voice steady. "Why do you think it sounds odd?"

"Because he was wearing a track suit. I was driving by and called out. I'm sure he heard me but he looked sort of...

distracted."

"Okay West, thanks for letting me know. I better get down there, he's probably thought of something."

"Want me to turn around and meet you there?"

"No, that's fine, he probably just wants to clarify something in one of my reports."

West hung up, but not before Skinner dialed and found Scully's cell phone number engaged. Damn! He had the file in hand and it was important she see it as soon as possible.

Scully hung up her cell phone and put on her overcoat.

Just as she was about to leave, she realized the back of it was sopping wet with dirty ice. She hung it in her bathroom and pulled another one from the closet. She forgot, however to retrieve her cell phone.

* * *

Feel him, bring him closer to you, hear the screams of terror.

Shut up!

Just shut the fuck up!

I hate it when they squeal like that.

Nausea hit him again. He was still in control, long enough to get himself here...but not for much longer. He could feel the window open, feel the conduit between him and himself.

One and the same.

Become one with him so he is you and you are he.

I am not what I am.

I am become.

He felt himself pushed aside, away and out. And he looked around at the world below him. Oh God no! Scully no!

Get back! Get outa here!

* * *

The lights flickered slowly, revealing nothing in the main rooms of the morgue. But Scully recalled Mulder's propensity to sit alone in the dark surrounded by pieces of the victim's remains, be they articles of clothing or bodies, in order to saturate himself within the atrocity of the crime. As if by doing so he could more easily slip into the persona, the very skin of the creatures he hunted.

Scully hesitated briefly, an unfamiliar and unwelcome shudder of fear arcing up her spine. She'd never been creeped out by morgues before and the sensation annoyed her. The dead held no malice for her. It was only the manner of their deaths that she sometimes, so very often, abhorred. And it was her job, in no small way, to help them rest in peace, to give some closure to them and their families for the injustices perpetrated against them. No, she held no fear of them...so where did this feeling come from?

Scully's eyes flickered across the room, penetrating the harsh shadows. Something, someone was here.

She resisted the urge to call out. If Mulder was here, he would be in the back where cold steel refrigerated compartments separated each unique death into defined compartments. Gunshot wound, knife, heart attack, drug overdoes, torn to shreds by insane killer, drowning...all neatly stacked and categorized.

* * *

Skinner called again and was frustrated by the continuous ringing. He punched in West's number instead.

"West."

"Agent West this is A.D. Skinner, do you happen to know the whereabouts of Agents Scully or Mulder?"

"Um, yes sir, I just got off the phone to Scully. I thought I saw Agent Mulder entering the morgue. I'm not sure why,but the fact that he was in track pants bothered me...heseemed...more than usually distracted. So I called Scully. She's driving down there now."

Shit, was he too late? "All right, West. Where are you now?"

"About two-thirds of the way to the hotel, sir. Traffic's a bit thick in this direction, pretty clear from the hotel coming into town. Do you want me to turn around and head back there?"

"No...yes...No, go pick up Smith first then get back to the morgue."

"Yes, sir."

Skinner frowned and grabbed his coat. Goddamn it to hell.

If he was right, he'd be too late. He could only pray Mulder was simply distracted. Five minutes, if he ran a few lights he could be there in three.

* * *

Scully's stride was less confident now. She would need to approach Mulder from the front, so he saw her coming. He had been slipping more and more into the first person the last twenty-four hours. Slipping deeper into the...thing that did this to a child. But he seemed more like his old self only a few hours before. She shivered and clenched her jaw, steeling herself, then looked hesitantly into the darkened room. The only light was residual, reflecting here and there off the polished surfaces of steel. She could see an autopsy table at the far end, with the tell tale shape of something on it.

Scully knew instinctually Mulder was here. Instinct -- or was it the unique sense that connected them? Should she risk turning on the light? No, and calling his name would be equally distracting. She just needed to find him and make eye contact, try to draw him back out of the world he chose to drown in. Or perhaps not. Perhaps it was sufficient to just be there for him, to be what they wanted from her, a grounding force that stopped a one-way descent into hell.

But her mind warred...better to let him sink into madness than let him become...something clicked in here, some realization. Is this what happened? Did he lose it, becoming so melded with the mind of the killer that he played out what the killer was? Was the pedophilia driven only by insanity?

Scully walked slowly towards the occupied table. She smelled something...something foul and rotten. Not like and old corpse but something more...maligant.

It wasn't just unwashed Mulder, although that was present too. No, this was something...worse. She shuddered, trying to ward off the feeling of despair as the blinding overhead light suddenly snapped on, disorienting her. Although she had expected to see him, his sudden appearance came as something of a shock.

"Mulder, what are you doing?" Scully asked in a gentle voice.

"C'mon, bitch, he's ready." It said. But was it a reply?

Oh God no! Why did she have to come? Scully! Get away! Go back! His mind screamed -- but it was too late. He was now apart from his body. Fox Mulder had been pushed away, into the farthest corners of the room, and his body was now in the control of the killer, mirroring the killers actions completely.

Mulder could not stop it, could not control it and God how he had tried in the past. He wanted nothing more than to close his metaphorical eyes and shut it all out. Let the beast do what it will and he would come to claim his body back when it finally released him. He had seen Skinner arrive and begin to make his way there. Skinner could witness this in lieu of him. Skinner...and Scully.

Scully swallowed as the primal part of her brain created the expected hormonal feedback. Mulder's hardly recognizable face moved to within inches of hers. His hot breath came in ragged gasps. And the stench of decay and rot filled her nostrils. And yet...it did not seem real. It seemed as forced as the insane look in her partner's eyes.

Oh, fuck. He's lost it entirely.

Her stomach turned at this, the most feared loss of all. A gunshot wound she could attend to but this...this? What to say, what to do to bring him back? Scully opened her mouth to speak but he pushed past her with a sickening leer directed at the far wall.

"He looks good, Sarah, shit he looks good. Why didja have to go and take a piss for, eh? You could have waited, you could have waited to do it on me afterwards...selfish bitch." His voice took on whining edge.

Scully's face drained of blood as his grotesque words smacked her far more powerfully than any fist.

"Mulder, it's me, Scully."

It seemed unaware of her as it roughly groped at the air.

"Are you wet yet, huh?" It's hand bumped her hip as it pulled back, but before she could react defensively Scully realized the contact was accidental.

"Yeah, you're wet, you fucking little cunt! You want it bad, don't you! He's ready too...all soft and little and sweet and white. Oh, Jesus, am I gonna give it to you. Look at that little cock, so fucking perfect. Sarah! Hold him!"

Scully frowned in confusion as it strode around the autopsy table like a big cat prowling its cage. Still uncertain how to react, she stood quietly, waiting for the next cue before deciding. Is this what Forenzzi had witnessed? This madness?

"Shut the fuck up!" It stopped and stared at the far wall. But Scully could see its eyes focusing closer, just inches in front of him. "Stop fucking sniveling or I'll cut your fucking little throat! I can't stand it when they whimper, at least not till I'm inside them, then they can cry all they fucking like."

Scully had been unintentionally holding her breath and the carbon dioxide built up finally kicked at her conscious and told her to get on with it. She let it out in a long, soundless sigh, praying it would not distract him.

It moved, jerkily, like it was not completely in control "That's it, that's it, get the trousers off...oh Jesus I can hardly wait, I'm so fucking hard I'm busting. Oh, God, it's gonna be good, sooo tight, so small and tight and good.

"Open his mouth, goddammit, I want his mouth first!"

Scully's eyes widened, the investigator's part of her mind filing away this fact for later. The victim's mouths had often been so badly mutilated, it had been impossible to establish if...Suddenly, it lunged at the air in her direction, its hips bucking. It pushed itself up against her, pushing the left side of her body back against the wall.

It made no attempt to touch or restrain her but the uncontrolled power of its bucking movements momentarilly held her against the wall.

"Yes...I, God, I'm gonna...goddamned little cocksucker ...he bit me! He fucking bit me! Fuck it, I was starting to come...Jesus, I'm gonna make you pay for that."

Scully had always been acutely aware of her diminutive size compared to the burly male agents she worked with.

But Mulder, for all his height, was a fairly lithe build.

The gentle power with which he had held her playing baseball a week before was a distant memory to the feeling of brute power pushing her into the wall.

But so far, it made no move to deliberately touch or restrain her, almost as if her presence was

coincidental, accidental. How could she get through to stop this? Would he attack her if she tried? She diagnosed had become savagely psychotic, unable to recognize her or his surroundings, lost in the ravaged mind of the madman who had killed this child.

To her disgust, as he pulled away she saw an erection straining its now stained trousers. This manifestation drove home to her how utterly real it had become for him.

She stared in horrified fascination as it stroked itself through Mulder's pants. Yet it all made a sick kind of sense. This then was what Forenzzi had seen, but he had not recognized it as madness. A part of her was relieved beyond measure. This was not Mulder, this was not a voluntary part of his nature, this was a madness that took over his soul. God, was it possible to bring him back?

"Hold him, Sarah, I want the little fucker, _now_!

It fumbled for a moment, trying to release its straining erection. It finally jerked the elastic of Mulder's pants and shorts down to its hips. Scully wondered if it might yet attack her. Mulder was gone and in its place a creature now lurked that might easily kill her. She slowly eased her right hand back to her weapon, but its mad eyes focussed on her and she stopped moving.

But as she looked, she saw something.

They weren't Mulder's eyes...

"Stop fucking moving! Stop it, or I'll slit your throat now!"

Scully stopped, unsure if its words were directed to her, unsure if Mulder, or the thing that controlled him, even recognized she existed or if her presence and movements were entirely coincidental. It lunged to stand over her once more, but although it came within inches, it still didn't touch her.

"You little cunt, open you legs and let me slide in."

Scully grimaced at the filth it continued to spit in her face. And by now, it was spitting, drooling and jerking.

Mulder's exposed penis occasionally jabbed her stomach in a disgusting parody of intercourse. Suddenly it pulled back, the lunacy in its eyes turned to cunning.

"Okay, yeah, you're right...condom, gotta get the condom otherwise *they* might find out. Okay, Sarah, yeah, get me the fucking rubber. Now, put it on for me while I hold him."

If he had a body he would have cried. Why? Why Scully?

Fuck it why even Skinner, although he at least had some inkling of the truth. Jesus he could have done this alone!

He could have stood witness...Mulder pulled himself up short. He had no right for such self indulgent angst.

He was in a far better position to witness this crime than either Scully or Skinner. And their eyes would be invaluable to extract every nuance from the killers' actions.

He ruthlessly pushed aside his emotions and watched the insanity of lust, felt its craving for sex, for blood, pushed the emotions aside and concentrated on what little he could see through the killer's eyes. He had picked up this particular skill quickly. At first his entire being had been stomped on, shoved to one corner of the room and left to watch in disgusted horror as this thing controlled his body. But he had quickly learned to follow its black path, to follow into the mind of the killer and see, at least partly, with his eyes.

But it had been ten long years and the skills were rusty.

Scully continued to slowly reach for her gun as she watched it grab something from Mulder's pocket. Its hand thrust out blindly, knocking her right hand away from the holster before she could unbutton it. There was a look of expectation in its eyes. Should she take it? Should she become involved in this madness or ignore it? Could she slip to one side and move away? Was she even visible to it?

In hostage situations they were taught not to start relating to the perpetrators or else they would lose control. But this was not a hostage situation.

Or was it? Mulder was not there...so who or what now possessed his body? How could she reach inside and find Mulder?

Its eyes were focussed to one side of her and she decided she really had no part of his madness. But to pull him out, she had to reach in and get hold of Mulder. Shit. To do that meant drawing attention to herself and making her a part of his world.

He looked down on her, down on Skinner hidden in the shadows. He could not stop this now, he was not longer part of it. But if she was going to be there to see...she might even be able to assist.

He would have gagged at the thought if he had a throat.

But this was his gift. His curse. And now she knew...

Until then, Scully had avoided looking at his exposed penis, trying in some measure to save his dignity when he came out of it.

Shit. If he came out of it.

She pulled her lip into her mouth and bit down, willing herself to remain calm, willing the horrified revulsion that was close to sending her stomach contents all over him, from taking over. It was not the horrific nature of the display she was witness to, but that the perpetrator was Mulder...

But she knew. Even as skeptical as she was. She knew this was not Mulder.

A shapeshifter perhaps? An evil Eddie Van Blundht?

Whatever it was, this was _not_ Mulder. No way, no way in hell.

Its hand waved around and bumped hers again as it thrust the small foil package out "Do it! Put it on!" if he had the power, if he had a body he would have cried at the grief of loss.

Scully finally looked down and, if was at all possible, felt her heart break even more. Logic overtook her instinct and she shook her head. What if this _was_ Mulder? It fitted.

What Forenzzi said fitted. And he had planned this. He had gone out and deliberately bought condoms. Unshed tears glistened in her eyes. She had to partake in this if she had any hope of reaching in and helping him out.

"Put the fucking thing on _now_ , Sarah! Don't gimme that crap about your goddamned hand, you got enough fingers left to do this!"

That it was neither touching nor restraining her gave her some measure of courage, so she stepped closer and gently took hold of Mulder's penis. Somewhat shocked at the warm, pulsing velvet hardness, and his size and girth, a part of her wondered if it had been so long since she'd touched an aroused man she'd forgotten what it was like, how damned big they were when they were angry. Disgusted by the insidious thought, she began rolling the condom along his length.

The situation has not simply repugnant, or even horrific.

It was a surrealistic nightmare. Although her eyes told her this man was Mulder, touching him like this, under these circumstances made an abomination of what they were to one other. This was not Mulder. This was not his penis in her hands. This bore absolutely no relationship to any normal sexuality, that she could not even think of it as sexual.

It was raw, violent evil.

Although she did not feel physically threatened in any way, for the first time in her life, Scully realized that the act of rape or sexual assault in any form should never be described as an act of sex. A different term, an ugly vicious term should be used, a term that described betrayal and violence and degradation and humiliation beyond belief, of savage filth perpetuated on both mind and body. How could the term sex be used in that context with what was normal and beautiful? The fact that they employed the same body parts? It made no sense.

Hands could be used to caress, to build a city and paint a work of art, to carry a child and play music to move one's soul, to literally hold a human heart and give life. But hands could equally be used to kill and maim, to torture and brutalize. Yet victims of brutality wielded by hands did not fear hands that belonged to a loved one, they did not fear the hands of healers and creators. And thus Scully managed to separate this act from Mulder. An evil degraded Mulder's body, using it to commit a travesty of sex.

Mulder's body jerked back from her after she'd covered only the first couple of inches of his penis, then it spun around to face the table. Although she still did not feel personally threatened, she reasoned that her interaction might yet draw attention to her. And if that happened, its violence might be directed at her. She reached for and cocked her weapon, then held it in surprisingly steady hands. She carefully aimed it at the soft spot in Mulder's shoulder where she knew from bitter experience, a penetrating bullet would do the least damage.

This was not deja vu, this was an entirely different madness.

In a quiet, reasoning voice she asked "Mulder, it's me, Scully. What are you doing?"

But the killer ignored her, unmindfull of her existance because he was a dozen miles away, unknowingly marionetting Mulder's body. Instead it swung back and in a move that shocked her already overloaded revulsion, reached out with its right hand to touch the long black hair of the girls' remains as it rested on the autopsy table. No other action he had taken so far had caused her such revulsion.

This was an even more horrific situation than Donnie Phaster.

"Oh, God, Sarah, this is good, soooo good. He's got such pretty hair, just like yours, Sarah, honey colored. Yours is short like this too, just like a boy's and you look so good with your fingers up your cunt. You love this part, don't you? Don't you?"

And then it hit her. The child on the table was a female with long black hair. Mulder knew that. Yet he had described a boy with short honey colored hair. What was this other thing in Mulder's body seeing? How was it related to this corpse, or was the presence of the corpse just a trigger? A trigger to see...what?

"Come over here and let me lick your cunt while I do this. Oh Sarah it's so good..."

The killer rolled his eyes and here, twelve miles from the crime, it rolled Mulder's in tandem. The lids closed as Mulder's body moved roughly, jerking spasmodically, without proper rhythm. It showed no awareness of Scully or her gun and she realized now that nothing she said or did would get through to Mulder. Her actions with the condom had been superfluous. Her presence was as a coincidental witness, no more, no less. She must allow this sick parody to play itself out till the finish, yet she could not bring herself to relinquish her weapon and walk away.

Suddenly its left hand grabbed at the table. Picking up a scalpel it swung the blade wildly in front of Mulder.

It grasped at the air with its right hand, but jerked back only once as it cried in Mulder's voice, "Keep your fingers working Sarah, your cunt tastes good, sooo good. Oh, God I'm gonna come, I'm gonna come it's so tight and sweet and...but you can't come yet, can you?

You need the blood, you need me to do it to him dontcha, Sarah! Oh, yes!"

Its hand lowered the scalpel and Scully added pressure to the trigger, a part of her still fearful that it might yet leap at her. The slack nipple at the tip of the condom suddenly fill with semen as it slashed Mulder's hand down and across once.

"Oh God Sarah, yes! Come baby, come, see the blood...Oh I'm coming baby...it's sooo good!"

Without warning, the killer dropped the scalpel and Mulder fell to the floor, seemingly unconscious.

He was slung back into his body. In control at last he collapsed on the floor in mental agony. God it hurt, it always hurt so much, but only for seconds. Yet as with the last time, a decade before, he must now face a greater horror.

Scully.

* * *

**Day 10 - Monday**

**Coroner's Office, Seattle**

**8:20 p.m.**

Scully's hands started to shake and she felt her face begin to collapse as shock finally overtook her. It took every ounce of willpower not to empty the contents of her stomach all over the floor.

She carefully removed her finger from the trigger, not yet prepared to put away her weapon, but fearful of her nervous hands. After a few deep breaths she relaxed her hold but kept it aimed at Mulder. Only then did she see Skinner standing in the shadows, his own gun aimed at her partner. The shock of seeing him was like a physical blow to Scully and her gun hand fell to her side. She clutched her stomach and leaning over quickly to grab at a large specimen bowl, heaved her heart out.

Skinner strode across the room and Scully collapsed onto her knees. He took her hair and held it back from her face as she emptied her stomach for the second time that day. A small part of her wondered if this was why Mulder couldn't keep anything down, because he felt this horrific monster trying to dominate his mind. When the heaving finally stopped, Skinner lifted her slowly and pulled her into an embrace, handing her a surprisingly soft handkerchief. The sight of it touched something in her, some memory of Mulder silently holding out handkerchiefs to her during unexpected nose bleeds. First one, then another deeper sob erupted from her tiny frame. But she quelled them, fast.

Skinner held her rigid body tightly, cursing every one of the bastards that had driven Mulder and this fine woman to this perverted insanity. He held her until he felt her relax a little, then pulled her back and demanded her eyes look at his.

"Scully, that...thing, that was _not_ Fox Mulder."

Scully nodded and said, "I...I know."

"No, that's the problem, you don't. Dammit!" Skinner dropped his hold on her and turned to look at the man now sobbing quietly on the floor. He looked back at Scully to see if she had heard her partner's cries. Scully wiped the tears from her eyes with the handkerchief while she holstered her weapon. She frowned in concern at her prone partner.

"Scully, I came to give you that file. You should know that Mulder had already agreed for you see it, before our meeting this morning. But he asked me to hold off in the hope it would not be necessary. I honestly did not think it would happen this fast."

Scully's gaze was torn between her partner and Skinner.

But she wanted to get to Mulder. Only half-paying attention to Skinner's words, she pulled off her black leather gloves and steered around the A.D.

Skinner did not try to stop her when she crouched at Mulder's side and felt his pulse. It was racing. The color of his skin and clammy feel told her he was going into shock. His sobs were almost unearthly and they tore at her heart, despite the filth this man had just dragged her through.

"We've got to get him to the hospital, he's going into shock."

"No." Skinner put a hand on her shoulder.

Scully frowned up at him and pulling her professional mask on. "Sir, I am a doctor and I'm telling you this man is sick. He's going into shock. He has just suffered a severe psychotic episode. He needs immediate incarceration and medication if we are to be of any..."

"Scully, no..!" A cracked whisper reached her from the floor.

Scully looked down at her partner's drawn face, "Mulder, Mulder?" Her hands reached for his pulse again while Skinner spoke.

"Agent Scully, it is not a psychotic episode. At least not of any type you'll see in any psychiatric textbook. What you were just witness to was literally a form of possession.

If they drug him up now, it will damage him, sending him into a genuine psychotic state...that's why he...why you need to read the file."

Skinner bent and touched the younger man's shoulder as he spoke "Agent Mulder, I am very, very sorry I did not ensure Agent Scully received it in time."

"S'all right...skeleton's finally out of the closet, huh?"

He smiled bitterly as his body was overcome with involuntary shudders. "And now we have another victim...fuck."

Scully was confused. Everything she had ever been taught, everything she held to be true flew in the face of this.

And what did he mean, another victim? How could he know that?

"Sir, this man _is_ suffering from shock and we _have_ to get him to a hospital, _now_!"

"No!" Skinner and Mulder spoke in unison.

"Scully, no drugs, told you before...no drugs...just kill me."

Skinner stood and reached across for one of the autopsy blankets and wrapped it around Mulder's shoulders while he angled the younger man up against the table's legs. In a deft move Skinner reached down and pulled the condom from Mulder's flaccid penis. He stood quickly and, grabbing Scully's impromptu sick bowl on the way, strode to the washroom.

Scully crouched in dazed confusion until she heard the toilet flush and sounds of running feet. In seconds, others would be here and for the moment, she wanted no one except the three people in that room to know what had happened.

Swallowing the raw pain of bile and revulsion in her throat, she quickly wiped the residue from Mulder's penis with the edge of the autopsy blanket and pulled his track suit pants up, with no regard for fine adjustment in his shorts. She tried to look into his eyes to tell him it was okay, but his face scrunched up in mortal agony. Tears coursed down his cheeks and he began to rock back and forth.

That's it, Scully thought. That. Is. It. He's going to hospital. He was completely disassociative.

Skinner came back with a wet towel and glancing at Mulder's trousers, nodded briefly to Scully as Agent's West and Smith came barreling into the room.

"Call the paramedics." Scully snapped at West, who abruptly halted at the sight of Mulder on the floor.

"No!" Skinner's voice arrested West's movement to reach his cell phone.

"Sir, look at him! He is completely..."

"Agent Scully."

Scully had been on the receiving end of Skinner's wrath before and it left her quaking. But the tone of his voice this time was almost unearthly in its implied threat.

"Agent Scully, you will not disobey a direct order especially given your ignorance of this situation." Scully felt as if she were being slapped in the face. And for Skinner to be doing it in front of two other agents, especially after what she, what both of them had just witnessed...Scully's eyes narrowed in righteous ire...

until she recognized the pleading look in Skinner's eyes.

Trust me, for once, if never again, just this once, trust me. Trust Mulder, they said.

The room seemed to hold its collective breath until Mulder's singular sob cut through the tension.

Skinner was the first to recover. He bent down and lifted Mulder in his arms. To Scully's professional horror Skinner slung her partner over his shoulder in a fireman's lift, ordering West and Smith to clear a path through the morgue and into the basement car park.

The two agents had the good sense to say absolutely nothing until Skinner gently laid Mulder in the back of his car.

Smith tentatively asked, of no one in particular, "What now?"

Skinner replied, "Agent Scully will accompany Agent Mulder and myself to the hotel. I'd like you two to go back inside and clean up anything that looks out of place. Put the body back, turn out the lights. Then go back to the hotel and get some sleep. If anyone asks, tell them the truth, that Agent Mulder was profiling and collapsed from exhaustion.

He'll be fine once he gets a good night's sleep and a hot meal in his belly."

West and Smith glanced at each other. Sure. Fine. Whatever the A.D. says.

Skinner motioned for Scully to give him her car keys.

Fumbling around, she pulled them out and handed them to her boss. He in turn tossed them to West. "One of you bring this back to the hotel, it's parked out front."

They turned and left without a word.

"Scully, get in the car." Skinner ordered.

Scully began to shake, seriously shake. She dug her fingernails into her palms so hard they became slippery with blood. It took some moments to get the buckle done.

"Agent Scully," Skinner spoke softly as he turned the vehicle out of the morgue's basement car park. Scully's face was turned outwards, watching the shards of light through the raindrops on the window. They broke up, fractionalized. She turned her face forward and watched the windshield wiper drag pieces of light across her eyes.

Blood red, white, amber. Pieces of her soul and heart fragmented and laying shattered and splotched across the window.

Skinner called her two or three times, getting her attention finally by shouting, "Dana!"

Scully blinked and stared at him, round eyed. That was the second time today she'd faded out on him.

Skinner sucked his breath in at the look on her face. He had to get this across, he had to get it across now! She _had_ to understand what had happened in there.

"Scully, listen to me. Mulder is _not_ psychotic and he did _not_ do what you just witnessed. Just...just listen to me a minute. This is _nothing_ to do with normal profiling.

He can and regularly does them with one arm tied behind his back. Okay, he gets lost in them, forgets to eat and sleep and bathe, but that's the nature of profilers.

And he's brilliant. You know as well as I that most people with eidetic memories haveaverage to low levels of intelligence. Mulder's goes off the scale and he combines that processing ability with the ability to recall and cross-reference everything he sees and reads. That in itself leads to extraordinary, uncanny predictions resulting in a solve rate that no one, past or present, has ever emulated.

"For the first year after the X-files was opened, Mulder's solve rate declined as his theories got wilder. Then you came on board and it shot through the roof again."

Skinner held up his hand to halt her expected protest "Yes, I'm fully aware that black-lunged son of a bitch brought you in to debunk Agent Mulder's work. They wanted him back in the mainstream so they could keep him off their backs and keep their fucking secrets. But they wanted him alive. They _needed_ this talent. And they misjudged you. They thought they could use you and they shot themselves in the foot. That's all beside the point,"

Skinner shook his head to get back on track.

"This...thing...this is something else entirely. You saw a glimpse of it, just the edges, on the Mostow case. But somehow Mulder wasn't completely...receptive. He couldn't let go. Or maybe the thing couldn't take over Mulder's body for some reason and went for Patterson's instead.

I don't know, it was as if, instead of just the mind of a killer, it really was a...a demon." Skinner's face scrunched up as he tried to explain a concept he hardly grasped himself.

Scully looked at her boss as if he'd grown another head.

Skinner talking about demons as if they existed? What was he trying to say, that Mulder was...possessed?

Skinner continued "Immediately after that I was called in by the director and made privy to a little known file, Mulder's file. It explained a hell of a lot to me, as it will to you, as to how the bureau continues to tolerate the X-files division, despite the pit stops along the way.

"Mulder's abilities have been a closely kept secret. It's the real reason they called him Spooky...because it spooked the bejesus out of those who witnessed it. It sure as hell creeped me out, and I was half-expecting it. Not now, but soon."

"How long were you standing there?" Scully's voice took on a deadly tone.

"I know what you're thinking Agent Scully, but you can't stop it. You can't stop him once it takes him over or you risk losing him...not into madness but into...losing him from...his body. He has to get back in when its over.

And medication stops that, or slingshots him back out again and makes his body catatonic. Eventually, his body would die and he would be left...adrift."

Skinner grimmaced, trying to find the right words.

"You have to ride it out. That's what Forenzzi never understood. He inadvertently saw an episode like this and had no comprehension that _it wasn't Mulder_!

"Profilers try to get into the minds of killers. But this is not profiling. At first they thought it was the killer getting into _Mulder's_ mind, a sympathetic form of madness.

But that's not it, it's _not_ a form of possession or psychic channelling nor astral travel.

It's something else entirely.

"When Mulder goes into deep profile mode, sometimes his mind becomes so receptive to the killer's emotional intensity that a sensory real-time link is forged. Once the connection is made, Mulder is forced from his body and becomes a passive observer. Meanwhile, his body is connected to the killer and mirrors the exact actions _as they occur_. Patterson called it just that, mirroring. And that fucking son of a bitch did not see fit to debrief Forenzzi, so Forenzzi was left with the impression that Mulder was getting off surrounded by the photos of kids, dead kids, when it was the killer as reflected by Mulder's body.

"Agent Scully, what you need to understand is that we just witnessed the rape and murder of a child as it actually took place, through Mulder's body becoming a...a doppelganger, mirroring the exact actions of the killer.

The horror of that reality hit her unexpectedly. She gagged and grabbed the sodden handkerchief, laid he head between her legs and sucked in deep, even breaths.

"How...how long has he been doing...this?"

Skinner negotiated a path through the traffic before he continued, "It started about six months after he entered the BSU. The first time, Patterson was present. It was a horrific child mutilation case -- not as bad as this one, but bad. They understandably thought Mulder had lost it, gone completely round the bend. Called in the men in white coats and drug him up on Haldol and Thorazine, enough to knock an elephant out. But the more they gave him, the worse he became. In twelve hours all his vitals began to slide...

he was literally dying. They tried every damned medication under the sun and with every new drug, he faded even more.

Finally, the attending psychiatrist, Andrew Webster, realized they were getting nowhere fast. He made a decision that could have cost him his career, at the very least, but it paid off. Mulder owes him his life. Webster decided the only way to understand what was happening to Mulder was to dry him out, clean all the drugs from his system and start from scratch. Let him revert back to his natural psychotic state, whatever in hell that was, and rethink the treatment.

"Within forty-eight hours Mulder was back to normal. I mean completely and utterly normal. One hundred percent fit and mentally sound. No one, least of all Mulder, knew what the hell had happened, although he swore that the entire time he was _outside_ his body. And he relayed complete conversations between doctors _two rooms away_! He couldn't get back _in_ until the drugs cleared his system. And without being inside himself, his body was _dying_.

"Naturally, he was immediately suspended on full pay pending an investigation of his psychiatric fitness.

"On a desperate hunch, Patterson acted on the information Mulder revealed during this...mirroring. It was so damned good they tagged and arrested the killer within twelve hours, saving two kids held prisoner in the process. But the real shock came when Patterson discovered the timing of Mulders'

attack coincided exactly with the murder of the last victim.

And according to the other kids who witnessed it, the details were not simply similar, but frighteningly, uncannily identical."

"Patterson nearly pissed himself when he figured out that under the right circumstances, Mulder's body could become a conduit, a real time window to a crime as it occurred, while his personality was pushed... outside somehow. He convinced the powers that be that Mulder was an extremely valuable commodity that could be kept under wraps and used when necessary.

"Mulder was, as far as Patterson was concerned, more valuable than gold. You see, Patterson taught the men under him that to find a monster..."

"To find a monster, you have to become one yourself."

Scully replied softly. In this case, Mulder's body could become the monster while his mind remained lucid and free to observe.

Mulder's calm acceptance of Donnie Phaster now explained itself to her. Donnie had nothing, absolutely nothing on what an outside person would think of Mulder after seeing him in the same situation as what they had just witnessed.

Then Sully recalled the Roche case...Oh my God, she thought. As much as her science could not accept it, this...mirror, this marionetting of the killer's actions explained Mulder's receptiveness to the dreams.

No.

No! She could not deal with this, it didn't make any sense!

But what was the alternative? What she had been witness to was _not_ Mulder. No way in hell would _Mulder_ have ever done those things. Skinner's explanation was the only one that made _did_ make sense.

Skinner glanced across at the small women tucked sadly into the passenger seat of the car. He had been fearful that Scully was far too absorbed in her own personal hell to have been listening. He swallowed heavily and continued.

He should have known better.

"Patterson drove Mulder, drove him far beyond acceptable limits. He treated him like shit, like some fucking personal divining rod. Oh, he was good, damned good at pressing all of Mulder's buttons. He kept him on Valium between cross-country flights, herding him from one sick case to the next with hardly enough time to shower and shave between them. Patterson convinced Mulder that every new child or woman who died at the hands of a serial killer was one that might have been saved if Mulder had just allowed himself to be sublimated, to be _used_ sooner.

And the bureau turned a blind eye, too damned pleased to take the credit for quick resolution on the worst of these cases."

Scully closed her eyes and groaned, sickness of spirit vying with outright nausea at the way these men had used, abused him. The cancer they had given her seemed nothing compared to this. Christ, he was just a wet-behind-the-ears boy...Silent unshed tears scratched at the back of her eyes.

Skinner turned into the main part of town, cursing the traffic snarled behind an accident. The best he could figure was half an hour before Mulder woke up. How long since it had happened, twenty minutes? Would they make the hotel in ten? He shook his head and continued.

"Not only was their wonder boy the best profiler, he had this...this ability to let them see the monster in action.

"It took five or six episodes before Webster, who'd been assigned as Mulder's personal watchdog, came up with the idea of monitoring brain wave activity. And that's when they figured it out. It's all in the file, Scully. They mapped Mulder's normal brainwave activity. During one of these episodes it _shifts_ into something, someone else entirely.

"I don't know much about it, but a person's brainwave pattern is as unique as a fingerprint, or their DNA.

Webster later mapped comparative brainwave patterns of the killers Mulder profiled, of the monsters we saw through him and he found the identical patterns in Mulder's brain activity during these episodes.

"Scully this is not some weird schizophrenia, not by a long shot. This was direct, unequivocal scientific proof that Mulder has the capacity to mirror the killer _at the very moment the killer is murdering the victim_.

How and where Mulder is _removed_. we don't know. All Mulder can say is that he's above his body, above the entire scene as it takes place. Mulder's the psychologist but even he can't explain the fact that he remains a passive observer the entire time. Although under the right circumstances, he can follow something of link and observe what the killer sees."

"I think this goes a long way in explaining how quickly he understood Robert Modell and his sister. It's because, although he had not control, he had some experience in what it felt like to have his personality removed from the actions of his body.

"Scully, this is where it's important you understand what I think is happening. You see, when he ceases mirroring, when he is given back control of his body, he remembers _everything_. And right now, that knowledge, that awareness of you being there of seeing...being subject to..." Skinner's lips curled in disgust "That's what terrified Mulder the most. That's why he wanted you to remain in D.C., why he disappeared on you, on all of us, in the Mostow case.

"Scully, I understand how you were affected by Donnie Phaster, even before that son of a bitch abducted you. Do you understand now why Mulder feared you seeing him like this? He saw it as all your nightmares, every conceivable horror all rolled into one -- and you would naturally mistake him for being the source."

Scully swiveled her head and glared at Skinner. "And you _knew_. You let him go on this case and you damned well _knew_ , you bastard."

Although her voice had been soft, quiet, it skewered Skinner's heart.

"Yes, Agent Scully, I knew. And I didn't have any choice.

And neither does he, because too many lives have been lost and we were not much closer to resolving this thing than at the beginning -- until tonight." Skinner jerked his head at the prone form of Mulder in the back seat, determined to finish the story.

"Mulder managed to pull himself out from under Patterson's thumb. I don't know that he would ever have gone along with it in the first place, except for his own personal guilt trip."

"Samantha."

Skinner nodded "We both know Mulder takes it personally when he can't solve something. He takes every one of life's fucked-up miseries under wing and tries to save them in lieu of Samantha. It's very, very personal with him...but he's no fool. He put up with Patterson's shit for three years, obsessing, mirroring, on these sick fucks more and more. He'd seen two of his friends eat their own guns just doing _normal_ profiles and watched Webster die in his arms in a fatal shootout early in 1989. Then Patterson demanded, in fact ordered, Mulder to skip Webster's funeral and catch the next flight to some other abominable mess halfway across the country.

"Mulder hadn't had a day off in almost three years. I still don't know how he pulled it off, and I'm not sure what in hell happened to set Mulder off, but he went on the case and halfway through it, beat the crap out of Patterson, told him to shove it, then took four months off.

When he came back, he went straight into the VCU. He agreed to take on _normal_ profiles on a case by case basis, but refused to allow himself to mirror as he had before.

"How...how...if he has no control over it, how does he bring it on...or prevent it from happening?"

Skinner grimaced in uncertainty "I think his body needs to be run down. Lack of food and sleep deprivation seems to open him up to it, but he has no control over the timing because it depends on the killer. I understand he may have some warning, as the killer prepares his victim. Mulder apparently feels it coming on and tries to lock himself away from everyone, but sometimes it comes on too fast. And it works best if he has some contact with evidence of prior kills, like the corpse tonight, or photos or clothing.

"We've backtracked Forenzzi's record. He was a case worker in Michigan helping track another child killer. Apparantly Mulder felt it coming on so fast he had no time to warn Patterson or Webster, so he locked himself in his hotel room.

I called up the guy who was ASAC at the time and he remembered Forenzzi said something about hearing some cries from Mulder's rooms and breaking in the hotel door.

Patterson and Webster reached him about the same time, but Forenzzi must have seen him handling the photos."

"That would explain his description of a blonde haired male, even though he was touching..." Scully mumbled, her analyst mind already fitting the pieces together before her logical façade convinced her this was crazy.

"Patterson met with him once and only once after that, in the director's office no less, immediately after Mulder's partner had been killed in a fatal shootout in September of that year."

"Steve Wallenberg." Scully spoke softly.

"Yeah, of course, Mulder took it personally, blamed himself even though he'd done everything by the book. Patterson swooped in for the kill and during the meeting he threw a fistful of photos at Mulder and virtually accused him of being responsible for the deaths of dozens of children on cases Mulder wouldn't touch during his time in the VCU.

"With the director himself making the request, Mulder agreed to transfer back to BSU, conditional on Patterson not watchdogging him. At first, Mulder stuck to normal profiling. He had good reason not to mirror, but Patterson hung this guilt trip on him so often that four months later Mulder agreed to take on a case that had them in knots for almost three years. There was already a permanent rift between Patterson and Mulder, so another watchdog was put on him. The director blames himself at least in part, for what followed. Mulder immersed himself and mirrored this guy...but the timing sucked. Something went very badly wrong.

Skinner turned his indicator on and eased into a parking space directly behind the hotel. He switched off the engine and glanced over his shoulder at Mulder, still hunched on the back seat, eyes close and face pinched. He was still in the unconscious state brought on by the strange ability they'd come to know as mirroring. Skinner turned to Scully and took her hand in his before he spoke.

"This guy had been killing about every four months. Over three years he'd taken down eleven young men. The next one was due in a week. Everyone knew that and Mulder prepared himself to be locked up and videotaped. But it happened three days too soon and instead of a padded cell, it happened while Mulder was in his apartment...

and it involved his wife."

Scully's jaw literally dropped open in surprise. But Skinner had already released her hand and was stepping out of the car.

"Scully, go around the front and get the fire escape door opened."

Scully unbuckled her belt and moved like an automaton. Too much. Too much crowded in her mind and her heart to be dealt with. She blocked them off, building walls as fast as she could, savagely pushing aside the grotesque image of Mulder handling himself, of the slashing scalpel, as she ran along the alleyway to the front of the hotel.

His wife...she hadn't even known he'd been married.

Fortunately, most everyone was in the dining room and she avoided questioning looks about her disheveled appearance and mascara stained face. Following the fire exit signs she came to the barred door at the rear. Pressing down on it, she was grateful that the owner complied with the building code and kept it unlocked. She pushed it open and was almost stepped on by Skinner as he maneuvered Mulder's body through. He glanced around, unfamiliar with the layout of the hotel, trusting Scully would have cased the entire building soon after arrival. He was not disappointed.

Scully walked swiftly in front of the A.D., then turned to ascend a flight of stairs. She wondered how her boss would be able to carry Mulder up three flights, but he seemed to have no difficulty.

They made it to Mulder's room just as he started to come around.

Skinner lowered the younger man to the bed and began stripping him. He told Scully to get a trash bucket and make sure it was lined with plastic because any minute Mulder would wake and the first thing he would do was puke.

"How do you know all this?" Scully asked, then silently cursed both her partner and Skinner for not giving her access to this damned file one hell of a lot sooner. "And why the hell did he keep it from me?"

Skinner turned to look at Scully over his shoulder as he worked in Mulder's buttons.

"If the situation were reversed, Agent Scully, would you tell Mulder?" he asked softly.

Scully was about to bite back a reply when Skinner added, "Especially if you knew he wouldn't believe you?"

Scully's jaw worked to snap back a denial. But then she froze.

Oh, God, of course.

Scully the skeptic. If it can't be proved, it's not real.

But all she had seen, all Mulder had opened her eyes to, had at least taught her that there was much she could not explain, at least not quite in her terms. She'd seen a woman held in thrall against the ceiling of a house by a maniacal boy, while that same boy lay in a hospital bed on the other side of town. She'd seen a dozen, a hundred things that made her realize her science had a few glaring holes in it. Only a few weeks before, she herself had suffered at the hands of some sort of psychic surgeon. But had she ever admitted as much to Mulder? Had she ever once really conceded that he was right? Ever?

Had she?

But Skinner said the brain scans showed unequivicol evidence, substantiated proof! And yet, such evidence proved nothing other than that a different brainwave pattern existed. It did not _prove_ Mulder was not responsible for his body's actions.

Scully stood there agonizing over what would happen when Mulder woke. He would remember, he would remember...

Oh, God, the entire thing -- what he'd said and oh, fuck, what he'd done in front of her. What he'd said and what she'd done, rolling the condom...

Scully swayed as a different kind of fear now hit her.

Mulder, knowing her for the skeptic she was, knowing the effect the Donnie Phaster had on her, would refuse to believe she understood, that she knew the thing that occurred that night had nothing to do with him, or her.

Nothing to do with them...

It would destroy him, thinking, knowing, he disgusted her as much as the sick evil fucks who killed with such perverted pleasure. Worse, that she had worked and trusted him all these years and he had turned out to be hiding the heart of a monster.

Oh, God, how can I convince him otherwise? Please, dear Lord help me, help me find a way to convince him I know, I really know it was not him but a conduit that uses his body. How can you give this man this...talent...to fight your monsters, but deny him the ability to be loved because of that?

Mulder's groans snapped her back to reality. Scully blinked and saw Skinner pulling the trash container up to Mulder's bare chest just in time. Scully mentally slapped herself and, kicking off her shoes and dropping her coat, strode into the bathroom and turned on the hot shower.

Skinner had stripped the younger man down to his shorts and socks. Scully realized such an experience would be akin to rape and that Mulder would need to cleanse himself. She looked across at the vanity and snatched up the toothbrush and paste.

Outside, Skinner held the younger man steady as he heaved bile into the container. It shocked Skinner that Mulder brought up little but fluids. When the hell was the last time Mulder ate? And yet, this starvation would have been necessary to make him recepetive.

Finally, Mulder stopped retching and began to shiver.

Skinner put his arms under Mulder's shoulders and walked him into the bathroom. Mulder opened his eyes enough to get a glimpse of Scully. His face pulled in on itself in agony.

"Get her the fuck outta here!"

"Mulder, it's all right!" Scully touched his arm but he flinched from her as if from a firebrand.

"No!" His voice fractured, acid bile having burned his throat. "Jesus, Skinner, what sort of sick fuck are you, get her out! Get her as far the hell away from me as possible!"

"Mulder, listen to me. I know what happened, I know it wasn't you!" Scully cried.

Mulder turned to Skinner, pulling his arm away and swaying "Get out! Both of you, just get...out!"

Skinner looked troubled, he had absolutely no idea what to do in this situation. The one and only psychiatrist who'd treated Mulder was dead these ten years. Patterson might have been able to help, but he was locked away in genuine insanity. The files said only that Mulder completely recovered within an hour or so of each incident...except for the last one and even Skinner could find out no more about it other than a dropped assault charge and the terse notation of marriage annulment.

He didn't need to connect the dots on that one.

In a burst of anger and frustration Skinner turned and slammed his fist into the bathroom door, splintering the timber work.

Ignoring both of them, Mulder stripped his socks and boxers then stepped into the cubicle and thrust his head under the healing spray of the shower. He was way past modesty now. Scully had more than a fucking eyeful that night.

Shit. Here we fucking go again.

The pain of loss grabbed at him so strongly he staggered and thrust his arms out to gain balance. He leaned against them and allowed the quiet sobs to wrack his body as he slowly slid to the bottom of the shower. Nothing would wash the pain away, nothing could make him clean, ever again. He was filth in her eyes. Beyond filth, beyond anything even vaguely human.

Scully quickly looked at Skinner's knuckles then glaring at him, ordered him to find some ice and fix it himself.

She had more important things to attend to than his guilty conscience.

She stripped her jacket and removed her gun and holster. A latex glove fell from nowhere and she realized she must have grabbed it with her impromptu sick bowl, then inadvertently tucked it under her holster. She picked it up and was suddenly revolted by the dried blood and gore, and evidence of her being ill. But the sight of the ugly, crumpled, disgusting thing suddenly inspired her. She glanced across at Mulder crouched in the corner of the shower, silent tears cursing down his beautiful face now made ugly by grief. Scully smelled herself and the splattered vomit on her clothes and the glove. Tucked down inside her skirt, the glove had left a wet patch of something indescribable against her blouse. Lovely. She was suddenly desperate to be in that shower, to be under that hot, cleansing water with her partner. She stripped everything but bra and panties and, carrying the glove with her, stepped into the relatively large cubicle and crouched down before Mulder.

"Mulder, Mulder look at me."

He shook his head, too pained to yell at her, "Scully, go away."

"Damn you. Mulder, don't you go haring off into that selfpitying black hole again! I know what happened *and it wasn't you*!"

"Yeah, right Scully. And you believe in all that paranormal shit all of a sudden, right? How fucking convenient."

"Look at me Mulder...look at this!"

He sat shaking his head back and forth, wishing she would just go away. He could not open his eyes and see the loathing hidden in those beautiful eyes. He could never face that. Knowing was bad enough but having to see it...

Scully knew it would be almost impossible to get through to him. But she had managed it before, in goddamned worse situations than this.

"Jesus, Mulder, you think I'm gonna run out on you for this? What about that time you had a hole drilled in your stupid head and pointed a gun at me? I didn't leave then Mulder and I'm sure as hell not going to leave now. You're my goddamned partner, for better or worse."

He needed her. Christ, he needed her. But she would never trust him again. He had to know, he had to know before his guts turned inside out. If he gave her time to recover she might be able to hide it. But if he caught her unaware...He snapped his eyes open and stared at Scully long and hard.

The look of sheer relief and genuine pleasure in her eyes was made almost ethereal by a subtle smile on her lips. A smile that reached her eyes.

He frowned in confusion until he felt her hands take his.

He looked down as she made him take a slippery, odious latex glove in one hand. It stunk of vomit and his first reaction was to drop it but something told him it was important. His eyes questioned her.

"It's like that glove, Mulder," Scully intoned quietly.

She held up her hand, soft and unblemished and put it in his other hand. "From a distance, to the untrained eye, it looks like it's part of me, it's almost transparent. But it's not me. It's nothing to do with me or what I am. It's a skin, a tool I pull over my hand when I handle something horrible. And I've handled more horrible things than even you can imagine, Mulder. But they don't affect _me_ , they don't ever touch _me_ , because when my job is done, when my part is done trying to piece together the horrors that are perpetrated on people, I pull off this glove," Scully pulled the slimy object from Mulder's grasp "And toss it away."

Scully threw the offensive object into the toilet boil and reaching up, flushed it. The hotel would have a fit if they knew, but right now, she didn't give a flying fuck how many toilets got backed up.

"And what remains is just this. Just my hand, a bit sweaty and in need of a wash but still _just_ my hand. Mulder, does this hand repulse you?"

The beginnings of a smile touched the corner of his mouth and his head shook almost imperceptibly.

"Your job, your talents are different than mine, Mulder. You pull on a different skin, a different tool to help you reach into the minds of the killers or the victims, while I reach into their bodies. We each approach the same job from different angles, with different tools. When we're finished, we peel off those skins and throw them away. A nd what remains is what's always been there, untouched, unblemished."

Unbeknownst to the two agents, their boss had stood quietly by the door and watched the entire exchange. He feared a violent outburst from Mulder at any moment, especially after Scully stepped in the shower with him.

Having witnessed almost the entire incident at the morgue Skinner simply could not believe Mulder would recover so fast. And Scully...shit. But Skinner let his head rock back against the door frame in relief.

Scully.

Goddamned that man if he didn't appreciate the loyalty and...love she gave to him was like nothing he'd ever witnessed before.

Skinner sighed softly and returned to the main room. He closed the door quietly to give them some privacy, then spent a few minutes tidying up the place and bagging the trash before he left and went next door to his own room.

Mulder wanted very much to take his partner in his arms and just hold her, but he didn't have the strength, or know quite where to start. He shook his head in amazement and chuckled.

"And I'm supposed to be the psychologist. Think I'll resign and hand the mantle over to you."

Scully smiled and took his hands in hers. She wanted to hold him close, needing him close to block out the images of that other...thing. Emboldened by her own emotional exhaustion she reached across and pulled him to her.

Unresisting, he allowed her to fold himself in her lap. A half dozen risque comments came to mind, but he rejected every one. Despite Scully's ability to forgive him, what had happened involved his body and he needed to steer well clear of anything sexual. He wasn't sure when, or if he could ever get that back again. Because this night had not yet finished.

"So, Scully, any skeletons you'd like to share with me to even up the ante?"

"I don't know, Mulder, depends on how many more you've got left in that closet of yours."

"You got that many, too, huh?"

Scully chuckled. Maybe now was the worst time to mention it, but if not now, when?

"Mulder...why didn't you ever tell me...was it because of your wife?"

She felt him jerk then stiffen in her arms and she regretted it instantly.

Fuck.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath then pulled away from her. He knew his timing sucked. He was not trying to distance himself from her because of that. But holding an almost naked Scully in a hot shower, while he was completely naked, was going to embarrass the hell out of him if he didn't move soon. Fuck, not that she hadn't seen it every fucking inch of it in full living color only an hour or so before.

Fuck.

Shit, he wasn't even up to cursing with a more imaginative dialogue.

He wanted to stand and wash and brush his goddamned teeth, but not while she was here with him.

"Scully, look I realize it's a bit late for false modesty, but I need to get cleaned up..." he looked at her with pleading eyes.

A shadowy look of disappointment crossed her features. But she understood that if their positions were reversed, she would feel the same. As she stood and stepped from the shower stall, Scully missed the expected innuendo about her matching silk burgundy undergarments.

A sadness crossed her heart. As much as she had huffed and raised eyebrows over his risque, bordering on sexist, humor, it frightened her that he was cutting himself off from her.

She had to stop this. Now.

"Mulder, throw the glove away. I have. I don't want to lose you to this."

He glanced up at her and grinned. "You waiting for me to comment on your shower attire, Scully?"

She grinned back in relief as she handed him his toothbrush, "That's okay, Mulder, you just have."

Scully grabbed a towel and opened the door to leave but glanced back quickly and asked, "Hungry?"

"Enough to eat that underwear, partner."


	8. Chapter 7

**Day 10 - Monday**

**Central Hotel, Seattle**

**9:30 p.m.**

"This analysis," Mulder added as he pushed the remains of the lasagna aside, "is not an attempt to profile, leave that to me. Mirroring is a valuable reference source, in this case, witnessed by three trained observers. None of it is admissible evidence, however, observations will assist in apprehending the suspects. We have three different perspectives and I need to cross reference the events in minute detail in order to extract the maximum benefit."

Mulder met both Skinner's and Scully's eyes firmly. He was relieved almost to the point of tears that Skinner had been witness to the mirroring in the morgue. What had passed between the killer, as seen through his body and Scully would not be retained as an ugly little secret between them. For all Scully seemed to accept that this manifestation of the murderer had nothing to do with the persona of Fox Mulder, Mulder knew he had destroyed any chance of a more intimate relationship between them. His heart clenched at the loss, but he knew it must be. That was a door he would never open again.

Ever.

In truth, a large part of him was relieved. Scully now understood that his mind was a tool that could channel a murderer. Her wonderfully gentle analogy to a glove was not lost on him...but he was a psychologist. He knew full well she could never see him in as a lover without being reminded of that night, No sane woman could. Scully was...Scully and she would deny it to protect him. But he knew.

God, he loved her...and to have her friendship and companionship... he'd been selfish to hope there might be something more. It really was for the best, now they could put it past them and fall back into the easy, familiar ways of partnership...he hoped. For even that must be savagely tested by probing the ugliness they had all been witness to that night.

Skinner's presence would hopefully convince Scully that he was not goading her, even though a part of him admitted to that at the outset. This exercise would be an invaluable profiling tool. But equally it would prove to be a catharsis of sorts, or drive a permanent wedge between them.

If it 'twere done, then best it be done quickly...

"Sir," Mulder picked up his notepad as he addressed his boss "You have the advantage of Scully in that you have read over the prior mirroring events." Mulder's eyes flickered between them. Wrapping his psychology Ph.D.

around his bearing, he defied them to look away.

"Scully, as much as I'd prefer you fully briefed before we go into this, we need to do this now. We don't have the luxury of time. I'd suggest you follow up on that file Skinner gave you tomorrow. Although we achieved a great deal tonight, I am under no illusions it will suffice."

The implication was clear. Scully swallowed but refused to take her eyes from her partner. "Mulder, just before we start, do you have much warning prior to these incidences?

Can you control the onset?"

Mulder screwed up his face in distaste. "It varies. It's been ten years... I came close in the Mostow case. I felt the warning signs but it seemed to...sheer off me somehow, as if it couldn't get a grip. There was something greater, more...evil at work there. If I'd opened up, I had the feeling it would kill me.

"But to answer your question, when I was profiling full time, I began to feel the trace edges up to hours before it happened. It depends on how much time elapses between the killer anticipating and actually undertaking the sexual assault and kill. If we were pretty certain of a kill pattern, we could anticipate a time frame, sometimes to within hours of the event. In the last cases I'd stay in a locked evidence room, or at the crime scene or morgue, with a couple of trusted witnesses and the mirroring episode was video taped.

"Before you ask, all tapes were destroyed to protect me.

As paranoid as I am, I have no doubt of that.

"Last night, I had ten, maybe fifteen minutes warning. If you're asking if I can call it up, or control my behavior in any way, the answer is no, at least not when mirroring a killer. The only thing I know for certain is that it generally follows a period of sleep and food deprivation.

Extreme cold or physical pain helps." He smiled selfdeprecatingly. "It's kind of like the old yogis going into a trance state. I'm sorry, Scully, but we really don't have time to go into details. There are extensive psychiatric reports in my file. None of them really explain it, but they do cover a lot of ground. Right now, I need to cover the events of tonight. You'll have to catch up with the files later."

Scully wanted to ask if he mirrored other people besides killers, but shelved the question for later. She was somewhat surprised Mulder was so politely forthcoming and didn't want to push him. Given his mood the previous days...but then she recognized he had encapsulated himself in a professional facade.

Now she must do the same.

"Before we begin, I'm going to point out the obvious.

Please try to be very detailed. You *must* ignore that it was my body used and concentrate on the unique characteristics, the movements and actions of this killer.

I cannot stress the importance of this too much. Nothing, no residual movements were mine, Fox Mulder's, so if he was jerky or waddled because he is naturally uncoordinated or overweight, that's what you have to see. Now, sir, you entered the room just after it started?"

Skinner looked up in surprise. "How did you know that?"

"Even when it closes my body's eyes, I can see what's going on around me. In fact, generally better than normal.

I could see you running down the hallway."

Skinner didn't react, recalling something about that in Mulder's file. He glanced at Scully. They'd discussed the obscene pathology and unbelievable depravity of crimes before, and it never bothered him. Despite what Mulder said, despite what he knew, this time it was different.

But he forced himself to rethink it. Scully was a pathologist. She'd had to deal with violent sexual offenses, fetishists, the whole damned spiel. As humiliating for Mulder and distasteful as the night's revelations had been, it was nothing compared to what they'd been exposed to in the past.

Mulder added, "Okay, all three of us saw pretty much all of it. Now, we need to replay the conversation in its entirety. I can recall his dialogue letter perfect, but I need your opinions regarding the nuances and of his voice.

He was aggressive and impatient, but what else?"

They spent the better part of an hour carefully transcribing the words and discussing the personality characteristics based on vocal tone and inflections.

Mulder took out a legal notepad and drew two columns. On the left he had written "male" and on the right "female".

The discussion swapped between the three of them for almost two hours, observations mixed with opinions. The first and most relevant point to date was the confirmation that at least two individuals were involved in the latest murder.

Under "Male A" Mulder wrote:

_1\. No patience, not into delayed gratification. Sexual act took place soon after victim was acquired._

_2\. Limited dialogue; average to below average intelligence; unusual._

_3\. Fetish: golden showers, hair, nails._

_4\. Bisexual._

_5\. Needs to inflict pain, but only during intercourse, otherwise does not physically damage the victim._

_6\. Short-tempered, intolerant of distractions._

_7\. Requires additional stimulation to reach orgasm: visual, olfactory._

_8\. Once the act is complete, he would be gratified and have no further use of the body. He is not the one dismembering or disposing, nor is he the one to collect the trophy._

Mulder stopped writing, frowned and commented, "The requirement to give oral satisfaction to the female, Sarah, is unusual. Normally, that sort of action is indicative of an extremely dominant female and subservient, very subservient male."

Skinner looked up but didn't comment. Scully, however, raised her eyebrow and said, "Is that a general observation Agent Mulder?"

Skinner raised his eyebrows and looked down.

Mulder glanced up, slightly glassy eyed and frowning, trying to piece something together. He blinked when he noticed Scully's countenance then replayed the last few sentences in his mind. Lifting the corner of his mouth he replied, "No, Agent Scully. As you're aware, virtually without exception, serial killers gain some form of direct or displaced sexual gratification from their actions.

Generally speaking, the act of oral sex is subservient, giving gratification without any direct reward. A man forcing fellatio on a victim humiliates them, dominates and denigrates them. Women are generally less powerful in this regard. Cunnilingus requires not simply an open mouth, willing or otherwise. It requires a certain degree of active participation by the giver, a finesse if it is to be in any way successful. In normal relationships, oral sex is a reward unto itself, the giver often being sexually gratified by the control of pleasure they in fact have over the recipient. It implies mutual trust and affection, even if it is still illegal in some states."

Skinner looked up in surprise and Scully blinked. Mulder just smirked. "'S true! As law enforcement officers you should be aware of that. Never know when you might have to police it."

Scully's eyebrow rose and she muttered, "Mulder,"

threateningly.

"Seriously, Scully, at least half a dozen states have laws prohibiting fellatio, and in some, cunnilingus...no, I am not going to tell you which ones, but there's gonna be a quiz next Friday."

Scully glared at him. "Get on with it Mulder."

Skinner couldn't help the corners of his lips twitching.

He was vastly relieved to see Mulder's perverse sense of humor and the casual banter between his two agents. This should be okay, he thought, it might really, really be okay.

"Serial killers are not big on affection and trust. This guy is not big on delayed gratification, either, so he has become subservient to the female, Sarah...I'd go so far as to say she acts as his dominatrix. It fits, Scully. The guy slits this kid's throat because she gets off on it, literally. He's willing to kill for her. However she is the one with the power, so much so that he has associated oral gratification to her with his own gratification -- but for entirely perverse reasons relating to his submissive behavior. As much as Freud sucks, this guy had a domineering mother, almost definitely one who used him sexually. However there is another vital, in fact far more important factor at play. I can't explain why I know, because I couldn't actually see any cameras, but they were filming this." His eyes suddenly unfocused as he remembered a school play on stage. "That's it!" He sat forward and glanced excitedly between them. "It's the lights!

My vision is always limited...but in this case I couldn't see far because of the glare of the studio lights! This is not a cheap video flick, this is a commercial operation!"

Skinner had sat through countless discussions of the sexual predilections of these human monsters and he understood the necessity for criminal profilers. Although he had come to expect nothing less than professionalism from his two agents, given the circumstances of the discussion, he was once again reminded of Scully's indefatigable resilience, especially when the discussion turned entirely too personal.

"Scully, in the autopsy reports, it was originally proposed that each victim was penetrated vaginally, where applicable and universally, anally. What about orally?"

"The victims' chins and lower faces were often damaged by the decapitation process. The evidence was inconclusive.

However the last victim's mouth was intact, although there was no damage or bruising to the lips, tongue or palate."

Mulder nodded and made a notation. "I'll get back to that.

What made you conclude object penetration in some cases?"

"Depth mostly. Although object penetration is normally far more violent and damaging due to the nature of the objects use and the force with which they are applied, often being the cause of death. I was frankly surprised at the small amount of damage inflicted on the victims in this area.

It's possible that a finger might have been used, but not to great depth and no sign of scratching from nails. In none of the three recent ones I examined were there skin irritations due to latex reaction...but that only means they had no allergies. It certainly doesn't preclude the use of a condom or the inability to ejaculate. There was no question they had been penetrated unwillingly. There's certainly sufficient tearing to indicate that."

"Okay, my original profile worked under the assumption that one UNSUB may be impotent, using objects to take out ungratified sexual frustration on the victims, and that he would continue in this vein because of his inability to find release. Though like you, I couldn't understand the lack of force. If he was using his penis, he did not penetrate far and was probably unable to ejaculate. I knew this wasn't right, but couldn't get a handle on why until tonight."

Skinner asked "So what are you thinking now?"

"Look at your notes, Sarah holds the victim while he penetrates. He's only talking to Sarah that way to prove to himself he's in control, but he's not."

"Mulder, did he actually penetrate, or use external friction?"

"He penetrated, Scully."

Scully mentally took a grip on herself. Refusing to lower her gaze she replied, "Mulder, something of that size most certainly did not enter those I thought were objectpenetrated."

Mulder's eyes shone in amusement. As ugly and humiliating as it had been, he was fully aware that he was endowed reasonably well, in fact a little better than reasonably well. "Scully, as I said at the outset, don't mistake the messenger for the message."

Scully instantly realized the stupidity of her error and mentally grimaced as a flush climbed her cheeks. Skinner glanced at the female agent and knew then, with absolute clarity that these two had most definitely not been involved in any sexual, Bill Clinton-defined or otherwise, relationship.

Mulder was not going to pull any punches.

"Sir, there is a significant point here that I can't honestly recall, but I need for you both to be very clear on. Scully, I'm sorry, and believe me when I say I'd much prefer not to dwell on this, but it's important."

Scully blinked only once, her face carefully composed and neutral. "What is it, Mulder?"

"The guy has an abnormally small penis. I don't mean just a little under you average six inches or so, I mean preternaturally so. I'd say no more than three inches and small circumference, almost pre-pubescent...would that be conducive to the depth of penetration?"

Scully nodded, "Yeah, that would be about right."

Skinner couldn't help his curiosity "What evidence do you have about his physical size? Could you actually see him?"

"A little. It's the one small piece of control I have.

Unfortunately it's always hazy, blurry and it doesn't help identify Sarah because she was wearing a mask, only her hair was visible. But yeah..did at any time he touch himself?

Skinner replied, "I really couldn't see much from my angle, but it didn't appear that way."

"Scully?" Mulder swung his eyes around and caught sight of her closed expression.

Shit. He was pushing her on this, too hard. But he had to know. He desperately wanted to touch her and apologize and tell her this was nothing to do with him and what he was.

This was nothing about anything that might have once been possible between them.

But he could do nothing. Any such recognition would give some sort of personal meaning to an event he wanted viewed clinically. In her mind, it would weaken her, emphasize her femininity. If she were a man, they could sit around and make fun of his cock and rib him how fast the guy had shot his wad or depending on the circumstances of the crime, what crappy hand action he had. Hell, that's the way they'd gotten through it a dozen times in the past.

But he did not have that recourse now.

Scully's face smoothed immediately and she opened her eyes and stared unflinchingly at him. It was immediately apparent she had shut her eyes to concentrate. "No, he only ever touched the corpse and scalpel."

Mulder sat forward, gratified Scully had reverted to the third person to describe the acts. "What hand did he cut with?"

"Left."

Bingo!

Mulder grimaced before he phrased his final question.

"Okay, last point, when did he ejaculate, before, during or after the throat-cutting?"

Skinner looked at his notes and reread the transcript, Scully closed her eyes again to relive the scene.

"During." Scully opened her eyes and glanced at Skinner "I couldn't see as clearly, but I'd have to concur."

Skinner added.

"It's unanimous," Mulder added.

"Is that important?" Skinner ventured.

"Oh yeah, most definitely. Although he said that Sarah gets off on the blood. I really don't want to go into that now." Mulder scribbled more notes on his pad. "Because it's late and I want to cover the other points.

"Scully, can you go back and do a swab in the latest victim's mouth? He partially ejaculated there first."

Scully blinked, glanced down at her notes and said, "Okay, he says he was starting to come...then the victim bit him.

But he wasn't wearing a condom yet and..." A second blush coursed up her cheeks.

Skinner looked very interested in his notes.

Mulder bit his bottom lip and said softly, "Imagine what accounting's gonna say when you have to fill out that line 'reasons for clothing reimbursement.'"

Their ongoing nightmare with accounts for reimbursement of thousands of dollars in clothing and shoes was a running joke between them -- *corrosion from bile ducts, corrosion from alien blood, immersion in sewers, abduction by unknown perpetrators, abduction by government employees, abduction by terrorists, abduction by aliens, gunshot wounds, buried in mud by vindictive trees, buried in more mud by a giant mushroom, dragged behind an R.V., blood and brain matter stains, gouging by a wolf woman, gouging by _mothmen_... the list was endless.

Scully couldn't help it, her face broke into a grin, then a chuckle.

Skinner, all too familiar with his agents' extraordinary accounting problems allowed the corner of his lips to curl.

Before he realized he'd opened his mouth he added, "Don't worry Agent Scully, I'll back you up on this one."

Scully's eyebrows lifted but Mulder decided he couldn't cope with his boss's humor.

"Anyway, try a swab, might get lucky. Since he was killed soon after, there may be some trace."

Scully nodded and Mulder glanced at his notes again.

"Okay, let's backtrack. I can't see Sarah's..."

Scully interrupted, a nagging feeling at the back of her mind. "Mulder, the condom?"

Mulder put down his down and rubbed his hands across his face before replying.

"Serial killers receive sexual gratification from their acts. The majority plan ahead, delaying gratification for weeks, even months. This guy is different. His vocabulary of expletives is limited to two or three words. He's not smart -- in fact below average intelligence. He does not plan ahead and would never consider using a condom. However, he is not the one in control, Sarah is. She forces him to use it, aware that traces of semen could be used to convict, possibly even identify him."

"No, that's not what I meant Mulder. Why did you have one on you?"

Mulder and Skinner answered simultaneously

"C'mon Scully, what sane guy doesn't keep one in his wallet?"

"The hotel supplies the same brand with their bathroom kit. This incident with Agent Mulder is a typical manifestation."

Half wishing Skinner had allowed him the illusion of a normal sex life, Mulder added, "I realized yesterday this might happen. Past autopsies show no trace of seminal fluids, hence they used them, so I put one in every set of trousers I own.

"Scully, your...assistance...was not necessary insofar as the killer would not have noticed there was no condom on me, because he is unaware that my body is emulating his. But for *me* it proved vital, because it occurred exactly as Sarah put it on him. The closer my body emulates reality, the better I can see what the killer is seeing, so actually putting a condom on, instead of pantomiming it, allows me to see more clearly. _That_ gave me a clear window into seeing this guy's penis. Without you, I might not have seen that and when we find the latest victim, your autopsy report would have confused the hell out of me because you would have cited object penetration based on the minimal depth. Now we know why, and now we know for certain there is another couple, including a male with no genital abnormalities, involved in the crimes.

That she had proved to be of assistance in this way was enormously gratifying to Scully. A part of her mind was already considering how much better she could do in the future. From a purely clinical perspective it was far less difficult than inserting a catheter into a man's penis.

And she'd had to do that to Mulder after shooting him and placing him in an artificial coma to drive halfway across the country.

"All right, I'd like to go back and further detail physical descriptions." Mulder added "But how 'bout some coffee, first?"

Scully picked up the house phone and rang through to the restaurant below. Although there were facilities in the rooms, the hotel provided the best Vienna style she could remember.

After the order was taken, Mulder went back to his notes and began.

"We know her name is Sarah and she has short, dirty blonde hair. It's either natural or the best Clairol job I've ever seen. Now this is unusual, even true blondes tend to be pibald when it comes to public hair, but this women is blonde all over. Again, it could be a dye job, but I doubt it. And she shaves herself, just around the vagina, not the mons.

But the best lead of all is, she has only a thumb, index finger and half the joint of her middle finger, on her left hand."

"Rings, tattoos, signs of age?" Skinner asked.

Mulder shook his head. "Can't see, can't even be sure of her age, no recollection of liver spots, wrinkles or not.

But the fingers thing is pretty good."

"Especially given her name and hair color," Skinner added.

"What about him, Mulder, anything apart from his genitals?"

"No, and I can't really see us putting out an APB on guys with little dicks. Can you imagine the line up? 'All right everyone whip 'em out.' Shit, under those circumstances they'd all be the size of peanuts...I suppose we could tell 'em to get 'em hard, although I think the civil liberties folks'd choke."

Skinner chuckled while Scully glared at him deadpan. But he could see the laughter trying to escape from his partner's eyes and was gratified.

"Sorry, nothing on him."

The coffee arrived and they spent a further two hours going over their notes, finely picking everything apart until they had every thread, every nuance to paper. It was Mulder who eventually called a halt to the session, telling his partner and boss to get some sleep. Skinner exited by the front door and Scully headed to the adjoining one, but she turned before opening it.

"Mulder, you're going to get some sleep, right?"

"Sure, Scully." He replied absently as he booted his laptop.

She looked at him for a moment, knowing full well he would lose himself in the relatively normal profiling world the moment her back was turned. In fact by the look of him, he was already halfway there. She turned back into the room and walked up to him. He didn't seem to notice until she touched him on the arm.

Flinching and pulling back he frowned, "What are you still doing here, Scully? Get some sleep."

"Mulder, you are going to be no good to anyone unless you rest." She wrapped her fingers around his arm again and felt his tendons harden at her touch.

"Scully..." He looked up with eyes that slowly spoke to her.

By brutally pulling apart the events that unfolded in the autopsy bay, he hoped it might lay waste to any damage to their friendship. Of that he was now gratefully certain.

But he could no longer look at her any other way. He was bitterly sorry for that, but that's how it must be. She must know and accept that.

Scully shook her almost imperceptibly. No.

Their eyes always said words they could not speak. Yet she saw his eyes now shutter as he took her hand from his arm and pulled away.

"Go to bed, Scully."

Falling back on the partnership they still held between them she replied "Mulder, Skinner holds me responsible for your condition. If you stagger into that briefing..."

Mulder turned and grinned at her, a semblance of their friendship trying to mask his now sad eyes. "I promise, Scully, I'll get some rest before then. At least we now have something to take into that meeting."

Scully just looked at him until he smiled softly and nodded his head to her connecting door, telling her to sleep. She had no tools to fight this. Her own heart was too heavily-barricaded to know where to look for doors, let alone open them. And instinct told her that even if she could find one, he had now locked them too tight to enter.

Is that what had happened with his wife?

His wife...

Oh, God, she had never known.

Scully closed the connecting door then settled on the mechanical processes of brushing her teeth and changing to practical warm woolen p.j.'s. If tears formed in her eyes, she most definitely did not feel them.

Nope, not Special Agent Scully, M.D.

* * *

**Day 11 - Tuesday**

**Central Hotel, Seattle**

**3:45 a.m.**

"Where the fuck is he? Where could he have gone?" West screamed softly to herself, but Smith heard her and grimaced.

What a rat fuck this was turning into. She almost skidded on the ice as they ran out of the hotel's fire exit. West's longer legs had already carried her a dozen feet ahead but she stopped and stared carefully at the footprints in the snow. Nothing.

Wonderful, just fucking wonderful. Scully would have her splayed out on an autopsy table with the full Y section and her large intestine being ripped, all without benefit of shooting her first. Yep, she could see it all now, clear as fucking day. She glared at her partner but the words were unnecessary. How in hell could he have let this happen?

Jesus, Smith was right outside his door! All Scully had done was ask one of them to stay outside and wake her up if he went anywhere. Leave him alone, just let her know.

Smith glared at his partner "I'm telling you I did _not_ fall asleep! He didn't leave the room!"

"Yeah, right, so he just vanished into thin air." Sarcasm dripped from her voice. Some gut instinct had warned her to check on Mulder when she'd gone to take over from Smith.

Then it hit her. Smith's eyes widened at about the same time and they looked up together.

"Found him,"

West grimaced as Skinner's eyes lasered her to the door.

He stood unmoving in the foyer, radiating anger in such a huge circumference that Smith wasn't game to get within ten feet of the man. But momentum carried her forward and she added. "He's on the roof."

"Get Scully," he ordered as he slammed the doors aside and went out to see for himself.

West raced up the three flights of stairs and began pounding on Scully's door. It opened in seconds. Scully was fully dressed now in dark jeans, sweater and overcoat, but instead of following West out the door, she turned her back and went through the connecting door to Mulder's room.

West began to sweat. Fear mixed with the exertion of running up three flights of stairs in a centrally heated building. The adrenaline high had peaked when she saw him on the edge of the roof and she was now coming down from it. Before she had a chance to speak, Scully snapped, "He's on the roof."

"Yeah, I know, must have climbed up from there." Smith motioned to the balcony. "What is he, Spiderman?"

Scully's eyes were slightly rounded as she turned back from the balcony and grabbed her overcoat. "Find out how we can get up there. The fire escape doesn't lead that far."

West nodded and ran back down the stairs again. _On the bright side_ , she thought, _I can forego the stair master tonight._

West ran into the restaurant and was thankful the daughter was there -- Crystal. The woman had good sense and discretion. Crystal looked up and frowned at the sight of West's flushed features and urgent demeanor.

"How do I get on the roof?"

Crystals eyebrow lifted in mute query but she threw down the journal and motioned to West to follow. As they exited into the foyer, Skinner, trailed by Smith and three or four other agents re-entered the building, their eyes arresting on Crystal. Scully came from the direction of the stairs.

Although none of them were running, the air of urgency was undeniable.

Crystal did not bother to waste time. "Follow me." She was about to run up the stairs, but the elevator doors were open. The elevator could easily accommodate fifteen people, but with Skinner and the four other burly agents, West, Smith and Crystal crammed inside, it looked overcrowded.

Scully stood so much smaller than all of them, Crystal had the impression they were closing ranks around her, protecting her. And it came to Crystal in a flash. Mulder.

Something was wrong with Mulder.

"You can access it via a manhole in the ceiling on #408.

You have your master key?" Crystal addressed Skinner, who nodded. "Okay, up the manhole and then directly behind is a short ladder. That leads to the roof. It's not locked but it is pretty dusty and dirty." She glanced at the expensive range of thick woolen overcoats. No one blinked. No one was going to their rooms to change first.

"What's up there?" Skinner asked.

Skinner's eyes bored into Crystal's, his words carried with them a deeper question, what was there that had driven Mulder to be there? Crystal knew she could not give him the answer he needed, she had yet to understand the question.

"Nothing but exhaust vents and plumbing. We rarely need to access the roof."

The elevator doors opened and a wall of black overcoats left Crystal behind. Instinct demanded she follow but logic told her to go downstairs and start a batch of chili and very strong coffee. They would find the manhole without her getting in the way.

Skinner slammed the door to #408 open. His eyes cornered the ceiling and came to rest on the framed square. He glanced down, then dragged the side table until it sat directly below the manhole. He was already part way through when West followed the bigger agents and Scully into the room. Skinner's legs disappeared, then his shoulder and head came back into view. He held his arm out to Scully wordlessly and practically lifted her one-armed to join him in the head high crawl space between the ceiling and the roof. They switched on their flashlights and immediately located the short ladder. Skinner went first, pushing the trap door to the roof upwards as Smith began to climb into the crawl space.

"No," Skinner ordered the others.

West was about to object when it hit her they may be dealing with a jumper. But the thought was incongruous.

Mulder suicidal? Okay, possibly he had gone over the edge, but would he try to kill himself jumping off a four story building into snow drifts?

"No, just go back downstairs."

Scully had gone ahead of Skinner and was already on the roof. She looked around but could see nothing. Then she glanced up at the building next door. Her heart stopped and her stomach started doing that carousel thing she hated.

Another Mulderulcer on the way.

Mulder sat on the near corner of the adjoining building, facing the hotel. He was curled into a tight ball, arms around his knees, rocking back and forth. In the darkness Scully could barely make him out, but it looked like he was wearing only a tee shirt and track pants. And no shoes.

The doctor part of Scully cut in. How long had he been out there? It was 20 degrees at the most and he wore only minimal clothing. He was already physically depleted and dammit, she knew he'd thrown up dinner again, right after she'd closed their connecting door.

She wanted to go to him, but the look on his face as he said good night closed her out. Utterly.

Leave me be, Scully, just leave me be to work through this.

And she had. Yet again. As she had left him alone for years and years. Left him to face his demons. Alone.

She read his file and allowed the tears to finally spill, crying herself to sleep in the privacy of her bed, hating and despising the men that asked this of him. Despising herself for her own weakness, for the walls she built around herself to keep him out. And that sick son of a bitch, Patterson. Psychiatric prison and comforting insanity were more than he deserved. And Forenzzi. Jesus, had he finally been debriefed? Had someone thought to tell him the truth, that what he had stumbled on was a killer channeling through Mulder's body?

She could feel Skinner's presence by her side.

"Scully?"

She turned to face him, bitterness in her eyes. "Satisfied?"

Skinner breathed deeply, unable to reply.

Scully shook the anger from her mind and concentrated on what she needed to know. "Is this another episode?"

Thankful she now had as many facts as him, he replied "I don't know. I can't see how. They've made one kill tonight already."

Scully answered quietly, "But they *are* escalating, and there are at least two couples working." Her eyes cast around for some means of access to the building, but she could see nothing. How in hell had he got up there?

Every part of her training screamed at her to get him down, get him warmed, get a sedative into him and for Christ's sake get him into a hospital. But sedatives -- in fact, just about anything including pain medication -- kept _Mulder_ from coming back. Scully knew that no medical textbook covered this situation. He had to escape from it alone.

Always alone.

She felt tears try to well in her eyes and she blinked angrily. Not alone, Mulder. Not this time.

Scully walked slowly to the back of the hotel's roof. She was now within his direct line of sight. She gradually walked the length of the rooftop, coming closer to him until only the twelve foot height difference separated them.

She couldn't be sure if he'd seen her. The file stated that when he mirrored a victim, he retained a great deal more control, not quite leaving his body, so she asked gently, "Mulder?"

He was silent for a moment, but the rocking ceased. Then he muttered softly. "Cold...Scully, I'm so cold."

Scully felt a wave of relief. If this was another mirror, it was from the perspective of the victim. Then how could she feel relief when they were about to witness the rape and slaughter of a child? She blinked her eyes firmly and took a deep breath. They were too late to save this child, but she had to save Mulder.

"I know, Mulder, you're sitting in snow and you're not dressed for it."

"He took all my clothes, Scully. He took them all off me except for these."

Her heart raced. Shit, this was not normal. She stifled a manic laugh as it tried to climb from her throat. Normal!

Normal? Since when did they live in a world where normal was part of the vocabulary?

"Mulder, who took your clothes off you?"

"He did, he said he'd warm me up with his body...soon, now.

He's bringing his friend and they're going to warm me."

Mulder stifled a bitter laugh. "But I know what they want, they just want to fuck me again, hurt me...Cold, Scully, he's so cold."

Scully forced herself to control her emotions. This was different, this was definitely another victim. A child who was alive and about to die. A child Mulder empathized with and could not save as he sat passively watching the horror unfold. Good God, he had done this for _three years_?

"Mulder, you don't have to be cold. You can come down from there and get warm."

"No!" He unwrapped his arms and stood. "No...I have to feel what he feels! I have to know what he knows...see what he sees. Oh, God, Scully I'm so tired of this, so tired of fighting it. He promised!"

Scully could feel the tears in his voice now. He was right on the edge of the building. If he fell, it would be into thick snow and might not kill him...but there were no guarantees.

"Okay, Mulder, okay, but sit down, okay? Just sit, sit down and wrap your arms around yourself."

He swayed for a moment, but complied. Did that mean the victim complied, too? Did Mulder have some control over the victim's actions? Shit! She knew _nothing_ about this!

"Okay, Mulder, where are you?"

He didn't answer for a moment, then "Uh...a shed...a barn I think. Yeah. A big old fashioned barn, you know? I...I think it's east, just a few miles out of town. Scully he promised, he promised to let me go if I did it for him. And I did, I sucked his cock and didn't scream when he fucked me. I was good, Scully, I was a good boy. Please don't hit me again!"

Emotions warred in Scully but the last comment jarred her.

In none of the autopsies had she seen evidence of beatings.

Rape, yes -- violent -- and some bruising around the wrists and

ankles, although that had been hard to detect because of the rough dismemberment.

"Leave me alone, Bill, I promise I'll be good. I promise I won't scream. But it hurts when you stick it in me, Bill, oh, shit, it hurts, man."

Scully's blood froze.

Bill.

His father's name had been Bill...but her stomach unknotted as she realized he would never have called his father by his first name...unless he'd made him...no.

Fuck this! She wasn't the damned psychologist!

Then her heart flipped again. Shit if this kept up she'd have a full blown cardiac arrest any minute.

Bill.

Bill Patterson.

Surely to God he wouldn't have...

But her mind went back to the file and something Forenzzi had said to her in the coffee shop, about him being Patterson's Pretty Boy.

The Violent Crimes bullpen...Their's was a crude and violent world. The foul language and innuendo's ran thick and fast. It crossed Scully's mind a few times if the crude jokes about jacking each other off in the men's room when they

couldn't score with the secretarial pool were more than just jokes. Sure, what she said to Skinner stood. Any hint of homosexuality invited ridicule, but jacking each other off seemed to rank differently, an off color boys club thing, designed more to shock the female agents and clerks that imply any one of them were gay.

She had always been thankful for Mulder's grace and gentlemanly mannerisms, and the privacy of their basement office. Innuendo and porn predilections aside, he bore none of the crudeness of those she'd met in VCU. But the profilers were different. True, their world was even more grotesque, but they were careful to mask that reality to the outside world. But what of Patterson? He had fallen into the madness, perhaps he had fallen a great deal sooner than the Mostow case...

While Mulder's body mirrored a victim, could Bill have decided to increase Mulder's ability to observe by making the situation more real, in the same way Scully had increased Mulder's visual perception by applying the condom? But to do what Mulder described, Patterson would have to have been aroused, have wanted it. And Mulder would have known, he was always aware of each episode. Is that why he left Patterson so suddenly? Had Bill Patterson finally given into the urge during one of Mulder's mirrorings? Was their hatred for one another based not on Mulder's leaving, but Patterson's abuse?

 _Didn't want to get my knees dirt_ y, were his exact words.

Scully had thought them metaphorical.

Perhaps not.

"Mulder, did Bill hurt you?"

His head dropped onto his knees. "He shouldn't have done it, Scully. He should never have tried to push me that far to see...But it wasn't what he said, he wasn't trying to make it more real, he...he couldn't help his own lust and tried to ram his fat cock down my throat then...later...Mostow...it... something bad took control of him, instead of my body. And it never let him go.

"I'm ugly, Scully, all the ugliness of their minds focused on me and he fell in and never got out again."

That they would use him to capture this evil was bad enough, but to have abused that, to have abused the trust and friendship that by necessity, had developed between the two men...Scully closed her eyes and damned Patterson to burn in hell for his sick betrayal.

"Mulder, you're not ugly...you didn't do anything. You have this ability...and you use it and it saves people, Mulder."

"You place the glove on and the ugliness never gets inside of you, never touches _you_! He's coming, Scully. I can hear him. They're coming and their not going to let me go. The door...it's opening and I can see the one behind him. He's big, got dark hair, long and oily like snakes, and a beard and...he's got a tattoo on his arm...he...they call him Steve...Got a knife and...Oh, God, he's got an axe!"

Mulder threw himself backwards and stood. He flung his arms about himself and spun in a circle. "Oh, God, I've got to hide, I've got to hide! They're the ones...the ones who cut up Jonesy and Luke and all the others! I've got to run, Scully! God help me, where do I go?"

He was screaming now. Scully barely noticed the figures standing in the snow at the base of the building. Nor did she see Skinner in the shadows behind Mulder.

Mulder took two steps towards the edge.

"No!" She screamed "No! God, no Mulder don't you do this, don't you leave me like this! Take the damned glove off and throw it away!"

"It's better this way, Scully, better to die like this before they get me, before they cut me. Better to leave you to be a doctor, to stop fucking up your life. You made me, Scully, you kept me alive and sane and whole and all I ever did was dirty you, ruin you...your chance for kids, your career, your family, your whole goddamned life...They're coming after me now Scully, they're climbing after me and I have to get higher. I have to get away!"

Good God! This was not mirroring! Somehow the two personalities had _mixed_. He had become the victim, empathizing with him, but this time his own fears and selfloathing became fodder for the thing that twisted his mind.

Suddenly, a shadow jumped out at him and tackled him to the ground. Scully backed away so she could see better and caught a glimpse of glasses as they were knocked over the edge to land in the snow at her feet.

Skinner's glasses.

"Get away, get away from me...don't kill me!" Mulder screamed.

Scully heard Skinner grunt in agony as Mulder placed a well aimed foot at the older man's groin.

She saw Mulder get up and scramble to the edge of the building.

"No! No, Mulder you're not ugly...you're...beautiful! Don't you see that, don't you know that? I see you Mulder, I see your dignity and loyalty and your pure spirit and your passion for what is right, for justice in the true sense of the word. You are the most beautiful man I've ever known, not just your body, but your soul. Take the glove off Mulder, toss it aside!"

He teetered close to the edge now. Skinner could not risk another tackle, it would likely take them both over.

"I have to jump. If I jump they can't get me. Don't you see that Scully? I can just float down into the soft white snow and let it clean me. I'm almost there, I can feel it..so cold, Scully, so very cold..."

Mulder, no!" she screamed, the cold and her emotions making her eyes water, almost blinding her. She had to stop him, had to make him understand that she...needed him. God, the words were almost torn from her own barricaded heart.

"Mulder don't go...dammit Mulder I _need_ you! I NEED YOU!"

He pulled up short and staggered backwards.

Scully needed him?

He had to get to her, to save her.

He fell backwards from the edge of the building and Skinner caught him in his black overcoat.

"Have to get to Scully...'s needs me." His eyes begged Skinner. "Gotta get to her, she...she needs me. Scully never needs me but she does now and I have to get..."

Skinner wrapped the coat around the smaller man and cradled him in his arms. "It's okay, Mulder, you'll get to her, you've got time, now, Fox, plenty of time."

But Mulder had passed out.


	9. Chapter 8

**Central Hotel, Seattle**

**4:20 a.m.**

_You will have time, Fox Mulder, plenty of time..._ He saw the green Pegasus fly down. On the back, a man sat...no, not a man, a...he couldn't be sure until it landed. The Pegasus was huge, half again as big as the largest of draft horses, but built like a race horse. It shimmered pale green in the afternoon light.

The man on its back was blue, a beautiful royal blue in varying shades. His face, for it was most definitely a man, was a lighter shade than his arms. The softer skin underneath his forearm was even lighter and it struck Mulder that this made complete sense if the blue was natural, in the same way that the underside of his own forearm was lighter colored.

The creature's hair was a magnificent black mane that grew down its back, like a lion. The tip of the curling tail was also covered in a thick teardrop thatch of black hair. The creature's hair shone thick and soft and silky, almost blue black, in the light. And its eyes, God, its irises were split vertically, catlike instead of round, in the deep green-colored corneas. But in every other way it appeared human, right down to the bearded face.

It...he descended from the Pegasus and Mulder looked up.

Jesus, he must have stood over eight feet tall.

_You will have time, Fox Mulder, when I come for you, time to learn that this madness will not take you. Time to learn the truth about the face of God, and the face of evil. You are very close tonight, too close and thus I come to protect you. It knows It cannot vanquish you but It would seek to damage your spirit sufficiently to turn your gun on yourself. This I cannot allow, for we need you to fight the lesser fight. Trust her, Fox Mulder, for she believes you, truly. Her heart sings pure notes unsullied by that which you wear and have now discarded._

_Live. Sleep, now...I will come for you soon, very soon._

* * *

**Day 11 - Tuesday**

**Central Hotel ,Seattle**

**4:20 a.m.**

**From the journal of Crystal Palmer**

Until a few days ago I hadn't realized how much I've been a bitch on wheels this last year. Dad took me out for dinner the other night, to celebrate. I know he's happy not just for me, but because he secretly likes telling his friends his daughter is a doctor, an engineer. He's really on top of the world. I suppose I am too, it's just taken me a while to look out and recognize it. Anyway, he took me by the hand and welcomed me back. I asked him what he meant and he replied he hadn't seen his daughter in almost five years. Not since Paul was killed, not since I came back to live with him. Now, these last few days, he began to see me again.

I remember years ago when I hurt my back, I had to go to a chiropractor. It took a few weeks, but not only did he fix the problem, he fixed other chronic problems that I'd been unaware of. What it boils down to was I apparently had a slight, peripheral headache and stiff back and pinched neck nerves that I'd learned to live with. But when he adjusted me, suddenly I realized I'd been living with a constant dull pain, a burden that colored my perception and attitude to life. When that pain was removed, the whole world seemed a different place. Colors were brighter, smells more intense, I walked and cycled with freer movements.

Everything was just...better. And it hit me. That's what it's been like since Paul died, a constant weight across my shoulders. First the pain and grief, then the worries because he had indebted both of us to pay off his medical schooling. So I lost the house and car and had to come home and start again. Seven years wasted. Then my Masters and Ph.D.

Now, the burden has been lifted and the whole world suddenly looks better. I now have the time, the emotional ability to look around me and observe. And this horror, this living nightmare of FBI agents and child killers is...well no less horrible in itself, but I find I don't hate them anymore. I understand them because I no longer see them through my own emotional burdens.

Something happened this morning. Something big and nightmarish. It started off about 3 a.m. when Agent West came

flying downstairs and asked me how to get on to the roof. I could see in her face an urgency that forbade any hesitation on my behalf, so I led them outside and there was Skinner, Scully and some of the others, mostly the team leaders, I think. Them being awake at 3 a.m. was not odd these guys work all hours.

To be honest I felt a slight thrill at seeing Skinner.

He's been down quite a bit since he arrived. I learned from Dad the other night that the FBI had run a background check on the entire family before the feds took over the hotel. It narked the hell out of me that they would invade our privacy so much. But when I thought about it, it made sense. Especially because I spend so much time helping them with their computer systems. The press keep hounding us for inside information and I know there's a leak. But I'm pretty sure it's not one of us. Dad has a pretty mean code of conduct when it comes to that sort of thing and he's instilled it in all of us.

Anyway, the last few nights I learned that Skinner must have checked up on me pretty thoroughly, mainly because of these leaks. I was pissed and told him they could look after their own damned systems with their less than competent technicians, after all, no one was paying me. He backed off, telling me the leaks were of a type that had clearly come from sources other than our family. He said it was against FBI policy for me to have helped in the way I had without those checks. Thinking about it, that's fair enough because I now know as much as anyone about the case, and about FBI systems and procedures. He said he was very grateful for what our family, particularly me, had done to assist them, and that he had no hesitation whatsoever trusting us.

I guess I still looked pretty pissed, so in a roundabout way he started flattering me. Not flattering so much as...well he just let me know that he knew what I'd been through and he thought it was neat how I'd put it all aside and not only got on with it, but excelled. Truthfully, I'd never thought of it like that before and when he mentioned Paul's death, some perversity in me wanted him to know the truth. He didn't react like most people do. He just smiled and said I'd be surprised how many marriages broke up that way.

Honestly, when you tell a guy you're a widow, they're sympathetic. When you tell them it's because your husband was drunk driving with the person he'd left you for, they usually say you're better off without him. Or maybe that it saved you the trouble of a divorce. But then when you confess he'd left you for another man, their eyes glaze and they foot shuffle and they just about fall over themselves trying to escape. So I do it fast, now, to clear the air.

Yep, that's me, the woman who's husband left her for a guy.

The sucker who gave up college to put him through medical school then lost everything to a finance company after he was

killed because the s.o.b. hadn't kept up the insurance payments. And the bitch was, if the divorce had come through, our finances would have been separated and I wouldn't have been liable for his student loan debt.

Yep, saved me the trouble of a divorce. Right.

Anyway, the next night Skinner came down again and oddly enough, started talking about himself. I thought it was odd only because he didn't seem the type. He walks around like some powerful, unassailable force. I know it's because of the way everyone treats him. "Assistant Director" and all, complete with capitals. Yet even without that, he carries himself do erect, so...impregnable. An air of authority is too much of a cliché. It's more, much more. But there he was, drinking coffee and just...talking to me.

He was married once, widowed now. Apparently he was a signature away from divorce when his wife was in a car accident. The *accident* implicated him for murder, but Mulder and Scully discovered the truth and no, the murderer was never found.

That made an impact on me.

Here he was, an FBI assistant director and his wife's murderer had never been found. But what made it so sad, or maybe not, depends on your perspective, was that he had managed a reconciliation with her while she was in hospital. He had, after all those years, managed to open up to her when he'd kept it bottled for years. The ugliness and horror that surrounded him he wanted kept from her. But by closing that off, he had also closed off himself. And then he found a way to break through...she died.

Hell. I thought I had a bad run.

I was glad to see him again last night, but not glad about the circumstances. I went to the kitchen and started to heat the chili and coffee, then I put the garbage out and saw them. They were standing back from the edge of the building and looking up. I knew something was up, of course. I mean West and Skinner wanted to get to the roof in a real hurry and it had something to do with Mulder, but I wanted to keep out of the way. I'm not stupid, if some bad shit was going down I had no desire to play target to a stray bullet. It always amazes me when people crowd around active crime scenes. TV is a whole lot safer. I mean I was in an ideal position to know.

But this wasn't like that. You could almost feel the fear from those watching. Not fear for themselves, but for one of their own, for there on the corner of the building next door, was a man, curled over himself and sitting right on the edge.

It knocks the wind out of you when you see a jumper. Not that I've ever seen one before, but oooh boy, it claws at your guts. Then I saw someone else on top of our roof walking towards him. I could hear her talking, just snatches of conversation. And I could hear him answering back. Suddenly he jumped back and started moving around in a circle. Everyone, myself included, moved right back into the car park so we could see better and that's when I heard them clearly. I mean I'd already guessed, but now I knew.

It was Spooky up there and the one on our roof was his partner, Scully.

God, a jumper was bad enough -- but someone you knew...

Okay, I didn't know him well but these two had touched me and

seeing them like that...oh, hell, it really bothered me.

Then it hit me. This guy was not suicidal. And I said it out loud. They all looked at me like I was nuts, except for West, I think she'd figured it out too. I said, hell, if he wanted to kill himself, why not use his gun? And why bother with a lousy four story building when the snow was so thick?

Before anyone had a chance to comment, someone tackled him from behind, but Mulder broke free and ran to the edge and I though that's it folks, he's going over. Then I heard her shout.

"No, Mulder you're not ugly...you're...beautiful! Don't you see that, don't you know that? I see you, Mulder, I see your dignity and loyalty and your pure spirit and your passion for what is right, for justice in the true sense of the word. You are the most beautiful man I've ever known, not just your body, but your soul. Throw away the glove, Mulder, throw it away!"

I didn't understand the last part, but it didn't matter.

If love could save a man, then those words would have saved him a dozen times over. I wondered what on Earth had brought this all on. The agents next to me sucked in their breaths and I could see one or two of them nodding, agreeing with what she was trying to do. But then he came out with something, in a voice not really his own.

"I have to jump. If I jump, they can't get me. Don't you see that, Scully? I can just float down into the soft white snow and let it clean me. I'm almost there, I can feel it...so cold, Scully, so very cold..."

Then she screamed again "Mulder, no! Mulder, don't go...damn it, Mulder I _need_ you! I NEED YOU!"

Let me tell you, it was like she'd torn that from her very soul, as if verbalizing it had cost her something she'd been incapable of giving. But it worked, because he fell back and whoever tackled him before did it again and this time, he stayed down.

All the agents around me cut and ran then. I went back into the kitchen, having near frozen to death for going out without my coat. Then I recalled Mulder was dressed only in a tee shirt. I shook my head and stirred the chili, put out bowls and cups and chunks of the bread I'd just baked, and waited.

Not for long, as it turned out. Five minutes later the first of them came in. Then West and finally, about ten minutes later, Skinner. His coat was covered in cobwebs and dirty snow. I'd already learned from the others that it had been him who'd tackled Mulder. But by mutual consent none of them spoke further until Skinner arrived.

He shrugged off his coat and I handed him a cup of coffee.

He looked at me a second, totally expressionless. But I could see the thank you there, hiding behind the pain. I went to leave them, then. The coffee pot and chili were on the table, they could help themselves. But he called me back.

"Dr. Palmer, I'd appreciate you staying. You have become as much a part of this team as anyone and an explanation is both warranted and necessary."

The others looked at me like they'd been hit over the head with a baseball bat. Then I realized. Just because some FBI clerk had run a background check on me from D.C., didn't mean any of them knew the first thing about me. They just took me for granted. I'd been categorized as the owner's daughter, a waitress who knew something about computers.

Now, they saw me in a completely different light, even if Skinner calling me "Doctor" was technically premature.

Skinner picked it up and brushed it aside quickly, although I think he also used it as a demonstration in not taking anyone for granted.

"Dr. Palmer is an engineer and just happens to be the owner's daughter."

Jaws dropped all round and they looked universally chagrined. However, Skinner's next words recaptured their attention.

"No doubt you realize by now that was not a suicide attempt by Agent Mulder."

Then he went on to describe how profilers sometimes went so deep into the psyches of killers, and sometimes victims, they could hare out and lose it.

"This was not a breakdown or a psychotic episode in the normal sense, but a window into a world I personally never want to see," Skinner told them. "A window into madness.

Mulder, as we all know, has become increasingly difficult to communicate with. He has hardly slept or eaten in days -- and exposing himself to the cold literally threw him into an almost trance-like state where he literally _became_ the victim. But it gets worse. Mulder actually became a real-time link."

In other words, we'd just seen what was happening to a boy, somewhere in Seattle. As we sat there and sipped coffee and ate chili, a boy was being raped, killed, dismembered.

I put my coffee cup down and swallowed hard.

You could see by the looks on their faces that if they hadn't seen it for themselves, they wouldn't have believed it.

As it turned out, the reason they had been roused by Skinner a few hours earlier was because new information had come to light. The source was Mulder, the results of an earlier mirroring. That Mulder had entered a similar state only a short time later was unexpected, but eminently fruitful, despite that it meant two children had died, were dying, that night.

They talked about it for at least twenty minutes when someone finally asked how Mulder was, and if he would be okay.

"Scully's with him. He snaps out if it pretty fast, but as you might understand, its a pretty rough ordeal to go through. I'm going back up there in a minute."

West asked, "Is it likely to happen again sir?"

Skinner nodded. "Yes, unless we use what we have learned and catch these bastards -- soon. And with what Mulder's given us, we should make headway, now, fast."

Grahams, I think it was, asked, "So he's some sort of...psychic?"

Skinner screwed up his face. "I don't know if that's the correct term. Mulder's profiling skills are an extraordinary combination of eidetic memory, frightening intelligence and an ability to fit unrelated pieces together in such a way that it appears almost psychic.

But this...this thing that happens to him is way, way beyond that. Whatever you want to call it, by its very nature it is...outside medical understanding. And it's been kept under very tight wraps."

His eyes bored every man and woman in that room, including me and he added, "And it will be kept that way." And not a person there didn't fully understand if one word of the events of the night leaked out, we'd all end up very unhappy people. Big time.

Not, of course, as if anyone would believe it. Spooky.

Very spooky.

I have to give West extra points, because she said, "With all due respect sir, everyone's witnessed him sitting out in the snow half-dressed, or walking in circles around that evidence table for hours on end...not to mention the howling nightmares when he does finally sleep."

"Eccentricities are one thing. Apparently, and I repeat apparently, psychotic episodes that are in fact mirroring, are not an eccentricity. Do I make myself clear?"

I wondered why the FBI was so...insistent about keeping it under wraps. I mean local police use psychics all the time, so why not the FBI? But then, I suppose using a psychic was one thing. This, however, was something waaaay beyond peeking into the minds of killers. A few weeks ago I would have put it down to another one of the FBI's dirty little secrets, like their cross-dressing founder. But now... having met Mulder and seen what happened on the roof, I had a feeling there was more behind it than Skinner was telling. But I also felt a greater degree of trust had been placed in me than I had any right to deserve.

I would never abuse that trust and, I guess, I found myself respecting these people, where before I thought I hated them. And I began to see them more as humans. And one of them at least, was an extraordinarily gifted human. Just as fragile, just as emotive and just as...well, human as the rest of us. But they chose to stand between people like me and the evil that lurked in society. Oh, there were breaches, all the time. But these brave souls undertook what was generally a thankless task to shore up the walls between good and evil. Sound trite? Sure, and I was just as sure there were some equally evil bastards among them.

But that night, at least, I saw the lengths one man was prepared to go in order to protect the rest of us, and I have to tell you, it humbled me. The least, the very least I could do was respect that. And I saw in their faces the compassion they had for one of their own who would go so very much further.

* * *

**Central Hotel, Seattle**

**4:50 a.m.**

A.D. Skinner opened the legal notepad, the one Mulder used to take his notes earlier in the evening. There were pages and pages of rough script in a familiar hand, in columns and notations. Then on the last three pages were tightly written script. This, Skinner recognized as the rough outline Mulder used before typing a formalized profile.

This was the thing Mulder wanted him to use.

This was his insight into the mind of a serial killer.

Skinner had never seen one before, but he knew that was how profilers worked. They used dozens, hundreds of interviews in prison cells, used thousands of reports from previous and current profilers, used whatever they could in their vast knowledge of abnormal psychology, to build a picture. Serial killers, Skinner knew, were not always mad. In fact, the vast majority fully comprehended the difference between good and evil, but freely chose to follow their own perverted needs into a world that began with manipulation and domination. Fed by increasing needs for the more perverted, blood and eventually death were requirements to fulfill their sexual appetites.

This was the world Fox Mulder descended into. Sanity had no place in that world.

As he read, Skinner realized even these notes were a highly sanitized version combining the formalized education of Mulder with the thought processes of the killer.

He took a quick glance across at the bed before settling in to read, his own pad and pen ready to grab any specifics he might use before Mulder woke and wrote a complete formal profile. As he began to read, a shiver traveled down his spine. It was in the first person. How easy would it be for Mulder to slip from profiling to mirroring -- and lose himself inside the mind of the killer while his body was under its control? How had he managed to keep the two aspects separated?

Skinner shook his head. With sudden clarity he realized Fox Mulder had to be the most sane human being he knew.

Only absolute sanity would protect him.

He began to read.

"My mom used to play with me when I started hollering.

She'd do it a lot and I musta liked it because I'd stop crying. But her boyfriends knew better what to do, so I liked that a lot more.

"After a while she just used to give me to them and they weren't boyfriends, they were other men who never took her out or nothing.

"Most of them were rough. Too rough and it hurt, but some of them were okay.

"Then once when I came back really bad, she let me go with them only if she could watch. She didn't want me too badly hurt or else I was no good.

"I saw her then, she liked it a lot and she smiled at me and loved me and it was okay.

"As I got older, she used to do it to herself in front of us. The john would get off big time and pay her a lot more money. I wanted to have a big dick like them so I could do it, too, but I dunno, something was wrong with me and it never got big.

"The johns didn't mind that, they didn't care about my dick, just theirs. In fact, Mom always said it was better this way 'cause I looked like a little kid. I was small for my

age anyway.

"Then she never came home one night.

"There was nothing to eat in the house after a coupla days, so I spent some time with my mother's friends. They looked after me, fed me and made sure the johns weren't too bad.

"There were a lot of other kids working, mostly older than me, but a few younger. Some of them worked with their mothers too.

"I got real friendly with one. Jimmy, he was. He was a black kid, 'bout fifteen I guess and I really liked him because he was so soft. All the johns are rough. Their skin is hard and rough and calloused, but Jimmy had skin like a baby. He said it was 'cause he was black. Maybe. Most of the johns I had were white or maybe Mexican.

"We lived close to the border.

"Jimmy asked me if I'd ever given it and I told him no, nobody ever did nothing but give it to me. So he let me do him. He said it was easy 'cause I was so small and he liked it that way. I never hurt him. But I wanted to.

I wanted him to know how good the pain could be.

"Some of the older kids started doing me too and they liked to hurt. I liked it too, except when they teased me about my small dick. Sometimes I used to hurt them back and it made me feel even better.

"After a while, some of the women who had little kids asked me to do them for their first time. They loved their kids, really and they didn't want them hurt too much, or maybe they just wanted them not to scream for a john and figured I was a good start. Who knows? But it was stupid. The pain was good, I wanted them to know how much the pain was good.

They needed to like it because the johns were going to hurt them and they better get used it that, so I'd hurt them. I made sure they squealed.

"Anyway I got to give it to a lot of them and I liked it, I liked it a whole lot. Better than having to take it all the time.

"I never got a job, not a real job. Can't read or write nothing 'cept to sign my name. Never went to school. Then I met Sarah. She was the first woman, not girl, I mean, who actually let me give it to her without laughing that I was too small. She taught me how to use my tongue instead.

"She lived in with all of us for a while, but she started coming home with cuts and stuff sometimes. I asked her what it was about and she finally told me one day. Some of the johns like cutting up on women.

"We all knew that. There was always a risk of getting some weirdo who cut you, maybe ended up killing you. Mostly they did it to the Mexicans, they were always coming across the border and never complained to the cops. If they disappeared, nobody ever reported it.

"I guess I've known a lot of people who that must have happened to.

"I guess that's what happened to Mom.

"I couldn't figure why Sarah did it.

"She said it made her a lot of money. She said she did it for movies and stuff and when she'd saved enough, she could get out of the game and do something else.

"Do what else? What else was there to do?

"She said she'd look after me because I never hurt her. She said maybe she'd get me taught to read or something and then I could do those something elses.

"She likes it when I watch her. She says the johns don't do nothing for her, so she's gotta do it herself. One time, she saw me with one of the younger boys and she got off on it, watching us.

"It was good, real good. I like her to watch, like Mom did.

I want her to be happy, like Mom was.

"Sarah disappeared for about four days then. When she came back she was cut up real bad and she was glazed and sick.

She said she was fine and the cuts would heal, but I could tell she was upset. Turns out another girl she was with got cut too bad and died making a snuff flick.

"Shit.

"Snuff flicks. I told her it was stupid risking that shit, but she said she was okay because she was white and blonde and they'd never risk losing her.

"And they paid.

"A lot.

"One of the little shits bit me the other day, when I was giving it to her. I slapped her round a bit. Her mother got mad at me and tried to stick me. Instead, I stuck her.

"Sarah came in and said she'd fix it with the guy she was working with. They had to get rid of bodies a lot.

"I wasn't scared or anything, and Sarah liked it. I could tell she liked it a lot. I think these blood games are what gets her off now, so I cut her a bit and we had some fun.

Yeah, I liked it too, it tastes good, feels good.

"The guy came and we dumped the kid's mother. He said he could use the kid on a flick and Sarah talked him into letting me come and watch.

"I had to look after the kid and she bit and scratched me a lot. The guy, Steve, told me not to knock her around too much because of the film. I worried a bit about it being a snuff film but in the end I wanted to kill the little cunt myself. I never knock them around first because of the films. They gotta look pure, virgin, clean. I just wait until I do it, then the blood, that's good

"I watched them make the flick and Steve said I would be good for some stuff because I was so small. I thought that would be all wrong because, you know, they like big, really big dicks on that. But he said I was a novelty piece.

"But I never got to make any films because then some heavy stuff went down. The cops got involved and everything went bad.

"Steve got Sarah and me outta there with another boy. He had money stashed away so we all moved to another city. He said he wanted to make more movies because there were clients out there who paid big money for serious shit.

"Plenty of street kids in L.A. Plenty to work with. He stuck to Mexicans for the hard stuff. He never let me do the kids because I was too small. I didn't like that, but it didn't matter because Sarah used to let me do them afterwards. I got used to it that way. They never moved when they were dead and the blood looked good and tasted good.

"She gets herself off on all the blood when they get hurt.

So does Steve. The boy he brought with him got killed when Steve accidentally cut him too deep. I hated that little shit, he used to get all the good stuff. I was glad to see him die. I liked it, a lot. I wish it had've been me that did it.

"I told Steve that.

"He said I could do the next one, so I did and Sarah really dug it.

"Steve picked up another boy for himself a while back. He didn't get in my way and now I'm grown up and as big as Steve, neither does he. Sarah runs things now and she said they had a real rich client who wanted a special snuff one made. They had to cut up the kid afterwards. I mean really cut him up, in pieces. Jesus, I saw a chain saw used on a girl,

once. That was cool so I figured this would be better. But I didn't want to do it on them live, so I made sure I cut them deep first. Steve always stuck them in the chest and after a while, I did the same.

"I had some trouble with it at first, but the money was something else. Then something weird happened. The client wanted to meet us. He wanted in on it. So we moved to Seattle.

* * *

**Day 11 - Tuesday**

**Central Hotel, Seattle**

**5:45 a.m.**

Skinner held his hand to the phone's mouthpiece and glanced around at the now empty room -- old coffee cups and take-out boxes were scattered between laptops and files, notepads and graphic photos.

"Agent Colton..." Skinner speared the first person that walked by the open door.

"Sir?"

"Colton, I'm stuck on hold here." Skinner ran his hand across his bald head then pulled his glasses off and pinched his nose between two fingers. He had not yet slept and he could foresee no time over the next few hours when that might happen. God, what Mulder had given them...He'd sat in horror reading he first profile notes, but it gave them so much to go on, it was phenomenal. They were already running through the databases. Teams had been out on the streets since before dawn, rounding up the homeless...the street kids. With Mulder's latest profiles they should be able to pinpoint a Sarah and possibly all of them within hours. And the links back to San Diego and the snuff flicks were already paying off.

For the carrion-eating press to have dropped this bomb shell in their laps was shit he did not need.

"Can you get me a folder on the side table near my bed?

It's in a courier bag."

A surge of resentment flowed through Colton. He'd only been in town a few days and had hit the deck running. It hadn't helped that he'd immediately been assigned to a team chasing down crap dead end leads that fucking Spooky decided on. He'd only had about five hours sleep and he was hanging out for a coffee. He was no fetch and carry boy for the A.D., but he plastered a suitable helpful look on his face and held out his hand for the key card.

As Colton stepped from the elevator on the fourth floor he realized he did not know which room the A.D. had been assigned. He looked at Skinner's key card. Shit, no number, but then he saw it was a master key. Which room? No problem, there were only ten rooms on each level. All he needed was a quick glance in each one, shouldn't take more than a few minutes.

The first two scored zero. The third revealed someone sprawled out in bed, dead to the world. Colton was glad he hadn't knocked. Anyone who could catch a few hours sleep should be left in peace until the next load of crap fell on them.

On the fourth try he eased himself into the room and glanced around the corner to see...

Well, fuck me...

Anger and resentment conspired with perverse delight at the vision before him. He crept out and quietly tried the next door, his face twisting into a bitter smirk, wondering how he could capitalize on his little find. A courier bag lay on the unmade bed. Colton double checked the address on the bag to make sure it was Skinner's. It was not beyond the realm of possibility that someone else had a similar courier bag on their bed, although the room looked like it had been partially converted to an office, as he would expect of Skinner. But Colton would never make a mistake again. Not after the first, career-damaging one 6 1/2 years previously.

Skinner nodded his thanks absently to Colton as he continued to speak in the phone.

Colton grabbed a cup of coffee and returned to his own room for his notes. A surge of unexpected anger welled in his gut as he recalled the haunted looks and darkened eyes of the men gathered around the coffee urn. Men who had worked through the night, who had kissed their loved ones goodbye weeks, in some cases months, before, to dedicate their lives to solving this case.

Colton was still incredulous that Spookyfucking Mulder had been assigned as the profiler and that his word was gospel. Colton heard about Forenzzi's little revelation the previous Sunday morning and it hadn't surprised him. In fact it delighted him. And Colton couldn't help a shiteating grin from spreading across his face when he'd heard about Forenzzi knocking out a few of pretty boy's teeth.

Mulder was definitely a creep in every sense of the word.

Jesus it was just such a pity he'd screwed up Dana as well.

Although Tom Colton knew the Tooms fiasco was his own fault, he harbored a deep resentment of Mulder, and to a lesser extent, Tooms' erstwhile victim, Dana Scully. He'd followed their roller coaster career with the satisfaction of one who knows his own career had stagnated. Having them pull the strings on this case pissed him beyond words.

Eliminating possibilities was a necessary task, but a particularly odious one when it was Spooky yanking the leash. Colton gritted his teeth. And now this! Dedicated men and women were pulling all nighters while Spooky...crap.

Colton grabbed his notes and returned to the restaurant.

He'd grab a second coffee and croissant before heading to the meeting. He was far too crafty to let resentment interfere with performance, but he had no intention of cutting Spooky any slack, either. One crack, one chink and Colton would pounce. Old Spooky and that little bitch wouldn't be removed from the case, but they'd be censured and he'd make damned certain everyone knew why.

Six a.m. came and went while his team of five working to investigate porn connections in California waited patiently for their team leader to appear. They'd been called out of bed to get what was supposedly ground-breaking new evidence. Two of his team rested their heads on arms folded across the table. Agent Wilcox glanced at the wall clock as it reached six ten. "I heard Mulder'd called a meeting for team leaders at 5 a.m. Maybe Joe's still in it."

"Maybe Mulder was late...wouldn't be the first time someone's had to drag him to a meeting." Weston said it without resentment, knowing the profiler's obsessiveness made him lose track of time. "Maybe the poor bastard finally managed to get some sleep."

Agent Cummins looked up from her lap top and asked, "Has anyone checked Joe's room?"

Wilcox replied "Yeah, he's not there, not in the restaurant either. What about Spooky? He wasn't in the evidence room and he normally crashes there."

"Jesus, I've never seen him out of it except when Scully convinces him he's too ripe to stand any longer." Cummins replied. "Maybe he finally went to bed in his room."

Colton resented the sympathy these agents were displaying.

Christ, if they only knew.

"What about Smith and West?" Agent Bligh raised his head from his folded arms.

"Nope, they took off just as I was getting caffeined.

Never said a word."

"Well what about Scully, how about we try her? She'll know where he is." Cummins added.

Wilcox caught Colton's sour, slightly smug look. He gave the agent a querying look. Colton dissembled for a moment then sighed, pretending reluctance.

"Colton, what is it?" Wilcox demanded.

Colton scrunched up his nose and rolled his eyes around, trying to appear as uncomfortable as possible. He finally raised his hand in defeat at Wilcox's exasperation and explained how Skinner had sent him to fetch a courier bag from his room. He added the problem with the key card, deliberately building anticipation to the point where all five team members were now awake and listening.

When Colton trailed off, Wilcox groaned. "Get on with it, did you find Mulder?"

Colton muttered, "Well I don't know whether he was asleep or not but yeah, he was in bed -- with Agent Scully." It took every ounce of his will power not to grin in delight at the stunned looks on the agent's faces.

Victory was fleeting.

"Agent Colton."

Colton, whose back had been to the door, failed to see the A.D.'s silent approach. He snapped his head around. Never in his life would he have believed the sound of his own name could curdle his guts.

Skinner's voice almost shook with controlled fury as his eyes pierced the younger man's heart. The other agents in the room immediately sat up, recognizing the wrath of God about to descend and wished very much to avoid the fallout.

Skinner ground his teeth together for a few moments. The temptation to put a fist through Colton's face was so evident, Wilcox and Bligh stood, wondering if they would need to restrain the A.D.

Skinner finally got himself under control before spitting out "I am...appalled you have put some misguided personal gratification ahead of this case by attempting to undermine Agent Scully and Mulder's professionalism. You deliberately misrepresented their current situation to the other agents in this room. You have no idea, no _fucking idea_ what's gone down the last few hours," Skinner shouted in a low voice, his eyes blazing.

"You will catch the next flight back to D.C. Disciplinary action will be taken at the recommendation of the director himself. And if I hear one word, one vague hint of this incident outside of this room I will personally tear your fucking balls out and ram them up your ass! And I am being literal, _not_ metaphorical!"

Colton visibly paled. He suddenly felt an overpowering need to find a men's room, but Skinner's form filled the door frame. The A.D.'s eyes danced across each of the four remaining agents in the room, boring into their souls.

"Do I make myself clear?"

There was no delay in the nods of assent and "Yes, sir's."

"Agent Fuller has been delayed. Your team assignments have been changed to accommodate new evidence. Pair up agents and get cracking."

He handed them each sheets of paper and went to leave the room, but checked himself. As much as Skinner loathed the necessity of further explanation, regardless of what he had just said, Colton's words left a slimy residue of doubt. On top of the newspaper insinuations, this was just too much.

"You are aware of Agent Mulder's eccentricities. This is normal for him. The ability to slip into the mind of a killer has an incalculable impact on a man."

Skinner thought back to the night before. After getting Mulder downstairs, the younger man seemed to recover his wits long enough to begin dictating everything he could recall. He faded in and out, desperately trying to convince Skinner to keep him awake long enough to work up another profile. Finally, Scully convinced him they had plenty, more than plenty to go on. It would take hours to get things moving on what they had and meanwhile, Mulder needed to get warm and sleep if he was to be in any way effective.

Mulder told Skinner to look at his notes, it wasn't a profile, as such, just his way of getting the background in place, but there was enough in there for Skinner to use.

Mulder had an almost death grip on Scully's hand as he begged them to listen to him. Eventually, Scully's exhaustion overwhelmed her and she curled up beside him on his bed. Skinner left them long enough to debrief the witnesses to the rooftop incident, then he returned to the room and stayed with them, silently supporting them, reading the terrifying contents of Mulder's pad, while the agents dropped off into apparent sleep. He gently placed a large comforter over them, checking the room's heat was sufficiently high. When he had left them a half hour before, he noticed that Scully had rolled onto her back and held her partner gently in her arms. Mulder had unfolded from his fetal curl, safe in his partner's arms. Skinner silently thanked a merciful God for giving them each other.

"It is a talent," Skinner added, "none of you want. Trust me on this. I'm not about to explain or justify the connection he has with Agent Scully. I'm not sure I understand it myself. But she is his partner, not his lover." Somehow Skinner managed to give the word partner an inflection of reverence while lover came out with a sneer.

"It is through Agent Mulder's unique...processing abilities, after a...difficult night that we have this new information. I stayed with them until a few minutes ago.

Scully is a calming influence and if it helps him get a few hours peace I wouldn't care if they fucked like bunnies.

But that is not the case.

"Now, get the hell out of my sight." Skinner spat the final words from his mouth at Colton, then swiveled around and left the room.

No one was prepared to meet Colton's eye as the man almost visibly crumpled. To give him his due, he tried to leave with a parting shot. "Methinks Skinner doth protest too much."

Cummins, totally unsympathetic to the agent and resentful that his tactless revelation had enmeshed them in an unnecessary tasteless tirade from an A.D., commented, "Better pack you wool skivvies, Colton, I believe it's cold enough to freeze whatever balls the director leaves you with, up in Dead Horse, Alaska."

Colton exited the room to the sound of sniggers.

"Fucking asshole," Cummins added. She'd found herself attracted to the saturnine Mulder with his boyish good looks. But she was also no fool. Mulder was a basket case in the making. Still, Cummins wouldn't have waited ten seconds to jump into the sack with him, even if it was only to offer the poor bastard some relief from the apparently insurmountable tension this case was generating. Frankly, she was almost disappointed to hear Scully was not intimate with him. She glanced up at Wilcox for a moment. There were eight female agents on this case and Cummins would bet good money that each and every one of them had already spent an hour or two wrapped in the mindless release of sex.

"I wonder what inspires a man to commit professional suicide like that?" The remaining agent, Ford, asked no one in particular.

"Wilcox did ask him," Bligh added.

"Yeah, but he coulda said Mulder was asleep and left it at that," Wilcox answered. He shuffled his papers together to leave the room. "Colton had the hots for Scully,"

"Who doesn't?" Bligh quipped. "And look where that got Forenzzi."

"'Bout six years back," Wilcox continued, "Colton fucked up big time by calling off a stakeout Mulder ordered. Scully was nearly killed as a result. Mulder only just got to her in time. Colton's career kinda stagnated after that. Stupid son of a bitch. Anyone assigned to this case when Spooky finally takes down the killers will garner a lot of kudos.

Colton could have been part of that."

"So you think Mulder's got what it takes to solve this thing, despite all the rumors about him?" Bligh asked.

"Well, let's face it, for all the shit leads and dead ends we've been following, this case was dead in the water until now."

"I'm goin' to grab some breakfast while I look over this."

Cummins gestured to papers Skinner had handed them. "Anyone care to join me?"

"Yeah," Wilcox nodded. He glanced at Cummins and saw the fatigue and pain in her eyes. Maybe sometime in the next few days they'd get an hour or two break. He nodded in recognition of her needs. His were the same. And he, too, felt a monetary pang of sadness that fucked-up Spooky probably couldn't find release in that simple, human way.

No doubt Forenzzi was right about one thing, the poor bastard probably couldn't get it up if his life depended on it.


	10. Chapter 9

**Day 11 - Tuesday**

**Central Hotel, Seattle**

**6 a.m.**

The poor bastard meanwhile had a woody that stuck up like the proverbial flagpole.

Shit, he thought as he glanced down at himself.

He tried to move his legs in such a way that it would be less noticeable if Scully woke. As much as his overactive mind demanded he get up and write the profile already compiled in his head, he was overcome by the absolute need to stay wrapped in his partner's arms.

Five minutes. He could have that much, he thought. Five minutes of fantasy.

He nuzzled her soft copper hair, smelling shampoo and eau de Scully in a heady fragrance for which he would cheerfully have paid a thousand dollars an ounce. But here it was, for free. He allowed his eyes to explore the soft curve of her cheek and delicate nose, then those sinfully rich lips that he had come so close, God help him, so very close to claiming so many times. His eyes followed the shape of her shoulders, down to her breasts, rising gently now in sleep.

There really was nothing quite so exquisite as watching Scully sleep, curled up around him, all mussed and soft and...well...Scully. She was so small, he often saw her as elfin and yet she carried an aura so large it seemed he spent most of his life looking up to her. God, he loved her.

Loved her so much that if anything happened to her he knew he would not last a month. Shit, he'd hardly lasted when she'd been taken five years before. And he had not then realized how much he had come to care for her.

He knew, above all else that if he began to make love to her now, she would not resist. She would roll sleepily into his arms and hold his head to her breast. He would hold each perfect orb in his hands and fold his face into them.

And they would be perfect, no matter what their size or shape.

Of course, he knew what they looked like, he'd seen them by accident at different times, then full measure in the Antarctic, and they had redefined perfection for him. If they had been bigger or smaller, if her nipples had been larger or less full, it would not have mattered. Whatever Scully was, that was what defined his perfection.

He knew his time was almost up. His eyes moved to her rounded hips. Hard to see under the cover of the blanket, but the shape was there, reminding him how they swung just so with those three-inch heels. God, he loved it in the summer when she wore them.

He closed his eyes and sighed slowly as the nightmarish reality tried to impinge into his fantasy world.

What in hell was she doing in bed with him? As if she didn't do enough, he took even this measure of privacy from her. His mind replayed the events of the previous evening, washing away the intimacy of the soft morning. He felt his hand clenched softly in hers, possessively.

But who possessed whom?

This was not right. Despite the dream telling him he had not lost her, that he could trust that she truly understood, this was not the way it should be. This was not for now.

For now, he had to get moving because God help them all, another boy had died last night.

The images flooded his soul and he cried out in anguish, abruptly sitting up.

As the blankets pulled from her body, Scully woke. She was disoriented at first, wondering why she was uncovered in the cold of the room. Then she felt the bed move and was shocked to see Mulder stand, then walk into the bathroom.

And she remembered.

Oh hell, she'd fallen asleep. And Skinner had been there with them.

She hastily brushed that aside. It wasn't the first time she'd cradled a wounded Mulder in her arms at night. That it was his psyche rather than his body in need of comfort and warmth was not the issue.

Scully pulled the rest of the covers from herself. Her black jeans were speckled with white fluff from the blankets and he toes felt cold, despite the thick socks.

Who had pulled her shoes off? Skinner?

But exhausted, she mentally shrugged. Too bad.

The temptation to roll over and go back to sleep was almost overwhelming, but she needed to make sure her partner was okay. The bathroom door was open and she could hear the shower running. The sound lulled her and she dropped off.

Waking with a start, with no sense of elapsed time, Scully shot up and out of bed with a thudding heart. The shower was still running! She ran into the bathroom and nearly collapsed with relief at the sight of him. First the damned man won't shower for two, three days at a time. Now he can't get enough.

Mulder turned his tired eyes to see his partner staring at him. He felt no embarrassment. Not that he ever really had in front of Scully, he was more amused at her blush than anything. He'd lost the worst of his morning erection...not that he'd had anything left to hide. And the strange, halfremembered dream had restored his equilibrium.

"Hey, partner, wanna join me?"

"Jesus, Mulder, you scared me!"

"Listen, Scully, if you're gonna make a habit of coming in the shower with me, can you scrub my back instead of just standing there and ogling?"

Scully about-faced, grasping for some semblance of dignity. She wasn't sure if it was hers, or his.

But a part of her filed away the sight of his naked body.

Too nice, too damned nice with those sleek runner's thighs, tight little ass and smooth back muscles of a swimmer. Not to mention the goods that hung rather snugly...shut up Dana. She walked out of the bathroom asking, "How are you, Mulder?"

He turned the water off and reached for a towel. Tying it around his waist he walked out of the bathroom and went to rummage through the bag of clean laundry.

"I'm fine, Scully." He turned to glance over his shoulder at her skeptical face "No, really, just damned hungry. And I need to get those profiles written."

"Mulder...if you eat, are you going to keep any of it down?"

He pulled a pair of gray shorts from the pile. He was about to drop his towel and put them on, but decided he had to start redefining the lines between them again. He grabbed an undershirt and took the clothes back with him to the bathroom as he spoke.

"Yeah, I should be all right, now."

"I mean it, Mulder. Your system is severely depleted. Would you let me give you a vitamin shot?"

Her voice was so hesitant he walked out of the bathroom pulling the shirt over his head and replied "Scully...look, all right. Shit, I hate needles, can't you give me a few pills or something?"

She almost wilted in relief. "If you want to get your profiles done, a shot will work faster."

He studied her a few moments. "Scully, I'm sorry I've been such an asshole, but I warned you before we started this, no drugs."

"Mulder, vitamins are not drugs."

"No, but this only happens to me when I'm physically run down. It's like I told you, like the old Indian fakirs, sleep and food deprivation, intense cold...leaves the mind open to...whatever."

She asked in a small voice. "How...how did it happen the first time?"

He opened the closet doors and pulled out a shirt. As he buttoned it he said, "Look, Scully, as much as I'd love to stay and chat, I really have to get moving on this. Where's Skinner? Did he take my notes?"

Scully pulled her lower lip into her mouth. There was so much she wanted...hell *needed* to know. But he was right.

It had to wait for now.

"Yeah, how about I get cleaned up and meet you down in the restaurant? He's probably there or in one of the meeting rooms." She glanced at her watch. "By now, he'll have everyone out on the roads, chasing down leads."

He pulled on his pants. "I have to get out there, too.

There's a barn...I'll recognize it when I see it. Damn, where're my shoes?"

Scully motioned towards the door. A brown paper bag contained three pairs of dry, clean and polished shoes.

"Ah, the lovely Dulcie!" He grinned mischievously at his partner and sat on the edge of the bed to put a pair on.

Scully smiled and tousled his hair as she walked to the adjoining door. She was just about to close it when he called, "Hey Scully?"

Scully looked back over her shoulder.

"Thanks...that's about four thousand and eighty seven I owe you."

She smiled softly and replied "Oh, I dunno, Mulder, I think that Antarctic thing has kinda put you in the credit books for a few years, yet."

He grinned back at her and she started to close the door, then added, "But that doesn't mean you get out of dinners over the contents of _those_ drawers!"

His face dropped so artfully she couldn't help a grin tug at her lips.

"Mulder, I've seen basset hounds look less woeful... Oh all right. I'll just make it one dinner."

His face looked even more woebegone as he realized he'd been maneuvered into a completely no-win situation.

Scully used her own bathroom to get cleaned up, then prepared the vitamin shot. Returning to give it to him, she found him shaved and groomed and looking like something straight from an FBI call up poster. Except that his suits were more expensive. How in hell did he do it?

But his eyes were still a little sunken and gray-rimmed.

She was determined he'd take the shot.

"Okay, Mulder drop them,"

"Ah Scully, you trying to come on to me?" He waggled his eyebrows and grinned.

She waved the needle around. "Careful Mulder, I'm armed."

He lowered his trousers and winced as she jabbed his hip.

"I'll see you downstairs in half an hour, Mulder."

He mumbled, "'kay." And left without glancing back, his mind already on the profiles that needed to be written. But under it all was the oddly compelling memory, of all the weird things, of a shimmering green Pegasus.

* * *

**Day 11 - Tuesday**

**Central Hotel, Seattle**

**7:08 a.m.**

Mulder heard Skinner's voice coming from Room 1. He walked past the main door and glanced inside. Damn. Press conference. Not that many, but quantity did not matter so much as distribution. Mulder quietly cursed, wasn't it due at 9 a.m.? He needed to discuss with Skinner exactly what information they would release and what should be kept in house.

Then he listened to Skinner's voice, "...what it means to walk in the shoes, to know both victim and subject and how each interacts with the other. This is achieved by hours in prisons, sitting across the table from the killers, listening to their stories. And only by empathizing with them will they willingly reveal their thought processes.

John Douglas, one of the FBI's first profilers, has gone into a prison cell and managed to get a killer of six young girls to open up by saying, and I quote, "That's six good pieces of ass you've taken away from the rest of us."

Skinner looked up at the men and women in front of him.

Some looked shocked, others frowned in disbelief.

Mulder walked along the hall to the rear exit of the room and stood in the doorway. He recognized Douglas' quote and wondered what in hell Skinner was doing. Why would he pick now, of all times, to give the press a lesson in profiling techniques?

"That, ladies and gentleman," Skinner continued "Is a direct quote from John Douglas' published novel _Journey into Darkness_. And that is exactly what a profiler must do, journey into the minds of the animals that perpetrate these heinous crimes on society, in order to understand what motivates them. And by doing so, they can predict behavior patterns that in turn may lead to the capture of these madmen. It's not pretty, it's ugly -- as ugly as the crimes the animals commit. But it is necessary.

"When a profiler immerses himself into the crime, to establish this mental rapport with the murderer, he may approach the situation by pantomime and by speaking in the first person, thereby giving the appearance to those unfamiliar with the technique, that he is in fact..."

One of the younger agents standing near Mulder recognized him and silently handed him a folded newspaper. He opened it and felt his stomach turn into knots as the headline grabbed him:

_"FBI PROTECTING CHILD MOLESTER AMONG ITS RANKS?_

_Using the maxim of it takes a thief to catch one, the FBI has been accused of harboring a suspected pedophile to out-think the Line Killer."_

Mulder's fingers clenched the paper and he glanced at the publisher. It was just a rag, a low ranked piece of tabloid garbage. He then glanced quickly through the byline, catching only the relevant phrases.

_"Yesterday, an inside source with the FBI revealed that an unnamed agent...questionable ethics...hypocrisy...legal system which turns a blind eye...calling for the resignation of...man's name to be released...FBI's stance on homosexuality amongst its ranks..._

Mulder clamped his jaw tightly and backed out of the room.

Fuck.

He closed his eyes for a moment and tried to consider the implications. Who the hell..? Forenzzi? Could the stupid prick hate him _that_ much? He opened his eyes and glanced back into the press conference. He could hear Skinner's voice painting a very clear and concise picture of FBI profiling techniques. Skinner's delivery was flat, professional and effective in undermining the ridiculous headline.

Long time crime reporters and more mainstream papers were familiar with profiling techniques and would automatically scoff at the tabloid headline. But the average Joe public would presume that where there was smoke...

Shit.

He stopped his mind from flying off into tangents and decided to dismiss it out of hand. Skinner would take care of it. He needed food and a quiet place to write his updated profiles. But then he heard a question from someone close to Skinner. He could barely make out the words.

_"...true that a FBI agent was the source? That being the case, surely he would have a clear understanding of the differences between a profiler and an actual pedophile?"_

_"It is correct that the information came from an FBI agent formerly working on this case. You appreciate that this is a high stress, often dangerous job and this particular agent is suffering from the effects of that stress. He is currently undergoing psychiatric evaluation..."_

He had thought long and hard about Forenzzi's attitude towards him. It did not simply extend from the death of Steve Wallenberg. It went back further, he was sure, to the case in Michigan. Over the prior months he had desperately sought to control the killer during mirroring. Having failed every time, when it hit him hard and fast in Michigan, he lost sight of his body and its surroundings in an attempt to get into the killer's body. He had failed, yet again, to save the victim. When it was over, Patterson was there and his hotel door broken in. He had not thought to ask, but it was obvious now that Forenzzi had seen something. And fucking Patterson had not bothered to mention it.

Mulder shook his head and walked away. Forenzzi had just bought himself the wrath of God. He was sorry for Forenzzi, sorry Patterson had likely never debriefed him. Or perhaps he had. Mulder sighed. Yeah, perhaps he had and like any sane man, Forenzzi couldn't accept it.

He walked away, wishing he could get the image of a green Pegasus out of his mind, it was distracting the hell out of him.

* * *

**Day 11 - Tuesday**

**2:30 p.m. PST**

**Lat: 16 deg. 2 min. S. Long: 121 deg. 9 min. E.**

**6:30 a.m. local time**

Mulder looked up in to the eyes of the Meta. He felt calmer that he should have. And it bothered him. Although perhaps now, at long last, he might get some answers...or maybe he had never come out of it last night and had finally, completely gone away with the fairies.

Nik was gratified, _You have accepted this situation well, Human._

"I don't exactly accept it, but I'm willing to...listen.

You're communicating by some sort of telepathy?"

 _Yes_.

"So you can read minds as well as project thoughts?"

 _Yes_.

Mulder nodded. " _All right...Let me get this clear. I'm driving along and a green mythical creature swoops down out of the sky,_ pulls _me out of the car somehow and tells me someone needs to talk to me. I black out for a moment, or everything goes black, not sure which, then I'm on the back of a...a Pegasus and we're coming in for landing, sans pilot, on this beach. Then you appear. I knew to expect you because of a dream last night. How am I doing so far?"_ The Meta inclined his head.

Mulder nodded a few times as he absorbed the information.

Okay, so he was dreaming. Either that or he was lost in some psychosis-driven waking nightmare. Had Scully overridden Skinner and drugged him? Had he simply lost it himself, gone too deep into the mind of a killer to ever come out again? But no...his memories since the mirroring were too cohesive. The events around him, the warmth of the sun, feel of sand beneath his shoes too real to be delusions.

Yet was not the strength of delusions a testimony to insanity?

_"Am I insane?"_

The blue creature let out an amazingly deep laugh. _You are without doubt_ the _most sane man on the planet! As much as I hate to use one of your cliches -- you've simply been...abducted by an...alien. Come with me._ Mulder frowned, but curiosity drove him to follow the alien along the sandy beach to a thatch of coconut trees. Spread out on a wooden table under the shade, was an extraordinary array of cooked foods and a pot of rich-smelling coffee.

Mulder felt surprisingly hungry. Despite what he'd told Scully, for the first time in days he honestly thought he could eat without upchucking soon after.

Mulder sat at the table, then glanced at the alien that called itself a Meta. Okay, what next? Quantico didn't run courses in alien protocol.

The Meta replied _I have eaten_.

Mulder looked down at the table, his stomach rumbling.

What the hell, if I am crazy, he thought, the food in this asylum is one hell of a lot better than most institutions.

Scully, yeah, that was it, she'd found him a real nice nuthouse. He's have to thank her when he came out of it. If he came out of it.

And if by some chance this _was_ real, he could do with a decent meal.

Fifteen minutes later he finished and stood to join the Meta standing down near the water's edge. Something, some movement prompted him to look back at the table. It had vanished.

"Portable dishwasher, huh?"

 _You were brought to this place because I felt it would be easier on your psyche to speak in such surroundings. Your friends are naturally concerned but you will be returned in a few hours, healthier than when you departed._ Mulder blinked and glanced at his hands. He breathed deeply and suddenly realized he felt no pain. There were no scrapes nor bruises across his knuckles from the night before. He touched his face, no tenderness in his jaw and the temporary crowns had vanished and his original teeth were back in place.

"What did you do?"

_Fox Mulder, you are neither insane, dreaming nor delusional, however the pain and physical degradation you use as tools to artificially elevate yourself to an enhanced receptive state weaken you. This makes you vulnerable both to delusions and to the machinations of that which you seek. That is why I came last night, for such a state is dangerous to you physical existence. I want you well and healthy and sure of your sanity for that which I wish to show you._

Mulder's thoughts warred, but he could do nothing for now, except go along with it. " _All right...so why is it that we've never seen your type before?"_

 _Because I can do this_ , the eight foot tall, royal blue humanoid with cat like eyes and a mane of hair that would have made a lion proud, lost its tail and quickly morphed into a good-looking human male. He was roughly the same height, but slightly bigger build than Mulder.

_"Bounty hunter?"_

_No, this was my previous form._

Mulder blinked. " _Previous form... Shit, do you mean...?"_

_Here, might as well get comfortable. You'll be here most of the day and it's going to get pretty warm. Don't worry about sunburn, I've adjusted your melanin to deal with it. By the way, my name is Nik._

He held out a pair of swimming trunks in one hand and proffered his other hand in a human gesture of greeting.

_"Nice to meet you...I think."_

Mulder shook the Meta's hand then quickly stripped and changed. Shit, if this was a dream...

_It's not._

Mulder glanced at the Meta. " _Okay, so why am I here?"_

The Meta retained his human form as they walked along the beach. _Let's back up a little ways so I can explain..in fact lets back up all the way back to before._

Mulder waited in the silence, wondering if he had missed something. " _Before what?"_

Nik scrunched up his face. _Before. Remember your origins of the universe theory? It's pretty much correct...you know, the once upon a time there wasn't?_

Mulder looked at the Meta. Shit, physics was Scully's field, not his.

 _Okay_ , Nik replied _Before time there wasn't._

_"Wasn't what?"_

_Time. Before the beginning there was no time, space or matter. There was no matter because there was no time for matter to exist within. There was no time because no matter existed for time to be measured in relation to. There was no space for space is the place between matter and as there was no matter, there could be no space. Ergo, before the universe, there wasn't._

_"You mean before time and space there was nothing."_

_No. 'Nothing' implies the existence of 'something' and there was no something. It's like good and evil. They are measurements and you must have something to measure before you can quantify it. Everything only exists, or doesn't exist, in relationship to something else._

_"Okay, an imponderable moment before, then there was an after, your basic origin of the universe theory, I get it...I guess."_

_Let's move out of high school. In fact lets move away from standard quantum mechanics. After the universe was, it formed into six standard dimensions. You understand the first four, three spacial, the fourth being time. The fifth leads into another set dealing with they way you and I are communicating. It is also the place where your mind goes when you mirror._

Mulder's head jerked around " _That's quantifiable? It's a_ real _place_."

_Of course? What did you think, that you imagined it? But put that aside for the moment, we can return to it later._

_For now I want you to picture a journey leaving this universe through the sixth dimension. As you travel, the path divides into six. These paths lead to six other universes. Consider this universe the baseline one, so this plus the other six now total seven. We, however, name the other universes one to six. From this perspective if you stick to the far left path, the sixth one, it leads from here to the sixth universe. You follow so far?_

Mulder nodded.

_When you arrive at this sixth universe, do not break through the superficies. Stay in the sixth dimension and you will see that from this sixth universe the path again divides into six. This dividing path applies to every one of the first six universes so that you end up with a total of forty three._

_However, lets just stick on our path. Once again, take the sixth path on the left and it will lead you to the final, forty third universe. Now pick up the construct in your mind and examine it. You have taken a circular path around the universes to arrive back where you began -- but it is the opposite side. The wrong side. The path to this 43rd universe is described mathematically as the sixth path to the sixth universe then the sixth path from there..._

_"You're kidding?"_ Mulder mentally interrupted " _666....?"_

The Meta paused, not surprised this man immediately grasped the implications " _Exactly_."

Mulder felt a frissom of fear arc up his spine and he stopped walking to stare out at the placid ocean.

Oh, fuck.

The Meta gave the human a few minutes to grasp the staggering philosophical implications.

_Well done, Fox Mulder, it took me an hour to grasp it when I first heard, but then I'd never had to fight metaphysical evil before. You have._

_"What in hell are you?"_ Mulder looked at the Meta with haunted eyes.

 _Some billions of years ago a species evolved in this universe to become what we call Masters. They do not rule the galaxies, but they are benevolent. In the 43rd universe an equally powerful species, the Others, also evolved..._ Oh my god, oh my God, oh fucking hell... Mulder sat, bent his head forward and put his hands in his head.

_Yes, you understand now._

Mulder took a deep breath and looked out over the tranquil ocean.

_"What about the gray aliens, the black oil, where does it all fit in?"_

_Listen, and I will tell you a tale. The Masters evolved and reached out from their home planet to explore the stars. In time, they learned to traverse the galaxy and eventually, to reach other galaxies beyond. To explore these galaxies they leaned to breach the interneces of the dimensions._

_And so it came about that the 43rd universe was discovered. It was Pandora's box, accessed by a way that some human folk law now describe as the number of the Beast - 666. Once opened, the nature of the creatures that existed therein entrapped those Masters who fell within.  
_

_And they were many. We do not know if those Masters still exist, for their species is all but immortal. However, soon it came to pass that a force humans call evil became to be unleashed upon this universe. The Masters knew its source and came to refer to these dark minions as the Others. You recognize the parallels in Genesis._

Mulder swallowed hard and nodded needlessly.

Nik continued. _The Masters, realizing the Life Force of our universe must be nurtured against the destruction of the Others, set about creating sentinels to protect the growing Life Forces of each planet. Understand, Agent Mulder, there are not one or two or even a dozen aliens in this universe, but millions of different species. And yet, for all we differ, we are all the same!_

Mulder shook his head unable to fully absorb the implications of what this creature told him.

 _Listen to me!_ Nik clasped Mulder's arm gently to get his attention. The soul weary agent looked up with hooded eyes.

_All the universes were created from a single set of raw materials. You, the rock you sit on...the ants that crawl beneath, the whales in that ocean, the sea itself and yes! The sun above are all made from the same molecules that were Created in the beginning. Your body is made from the stuff of stars, Fox Mulder!_

_The molecules that once roamed this sun fell to earth and made you, and all that exists around you! And when your body dies, when your molecules turn to dust they will be reborn again, as a flower or a plant, to be eaten by one that gives birth to yet another and another. Nothing ever truly dies, Fox Mulder. And consider, the stars themselves were born from a single great mass, so all creatures in the universes are really one, part of one great Life Force. But as there must be a beginning, so to must there be an ending._

Mulder lifted his eyes to the horizon " _And how will this all end? Is it really all for nothing?"_

Nik sighed. _That depends on who wins. The battle will rage a billion years or more, but eventually..._ he chuckled and shook his head _A human author perhaps described it best, "What a caterpillar calls the end of the world, the Master calls a butterfly"._

_The Others? They wish differently, to pull back into the blackness of oblivion. They call it purity... The aliens who visit this planet are many. Some are benevolent collectors who wish to preserve a record of that which is fast being lost. Others merely observer while a few, including those you know as the gray aliens, are acquisitive and wish to activate long dead genes in your biology to generate their own kind._

_"Can you help us?"_ Mulder asked. " _Is that why you're here?"_

Nik pursed his lips and crossed his arms in an all too human gesture. He looked up with sadness in his eyes _No, I cannot help you fight these creatures in the way you wish._ _It is a domestic dispute over a backwater planet. My role is to fight that which surpasses mere greed and is evil incarnate. My fight is with the Others._

Mulder shot up from the ground and yelled, "Then why the hell are you telling me all this? If you can't help, what's the point? And if we don't have the tools to fight a...a domestic dispute, how in hell can we fight these Others?"

Nik looked sadly at Mulder _You cannot fight the Others, that is not within your power. But you do have the tools to fight the gray ones. Even now the tools are being fashioned, a vaccine..._

"Is being tested on the innocent, in a cruel and farcical..."

 _YES_.

The force of the thought slammed into Mulder's mind and he grasped his head with his hands.

After a few moments, the Meta continued, _Yes. The reasons for your fight, for this domestic dispute over acquisitiveness is because the Others have long since established a powerful foothold amongst the gray ones. It is not complete, for many grays are benevolent, but it is nevertheless powerful._

_“Then fighting them will.."_

_Achieve only a temporary respite! You do not yet understand, they are but vessels that can be discarded._

_"Then make me understand! Show me!"_

Nik motioned for Mulder to sit again _Calm yourself now, for I will take you on a journey to the edge of the Abyss and you will see that which you have glimpsed before, in the minds of those you hunt, but this time you will know its truth._

Mulder looked into the eyes of the Meta and felt himself fall. At first he took it to be the mind of the Meta and it shocked him. It was enormous, it would consume him! Trying desperately to skirt the edges, Mulder felt himself propelled beyond.

_Do not be afraid. They have seen your face before and know you. But this time you remain under my protection and thus, hidden from the Others. But look here into the mind of one which you seek..._

Mulder almost recoiled in revulsion at the insidious black growth that enmeshed itself with the personality of...someone, a face he could not see...He followed the path of this wrongness in the same way as he allowed his body to mirror a killer. Past the mind of the person and into the ether beyond it streamed out, joined by tens of thousands of others like it and coalesced. Mulder rushed to follow it to the source then froze in horror.

Not possible!

Oh, God, it was not possible to witness such a seething mass of raw evil and survive! Every tale he'd ever heard about those who looked upon such horror turning to stone, or salt, came back to plague him. Yet even at that moment he realized he was not seeing it raw, but reflected in the mind of the Meta...Medusa in the mirror...

He felt himself being jerked back and awoke, uncontrollably emptying his bowels, bladder and stomach on the beach as his mind gagged, suffocating at the grotesque filth within. If it were possible he would ripped his brain from his skull and scrubbed it in the cleansing oceanic waters.

 _I'm sorry_ , Nik bent beside the prone man and brushed Mulder's hair from his head, trying to ease the pain, _It will pass in a few minutes. Do not fear that it touched you, your mind is incorruptible, but now you see the face of the Others. And now you know. They are not manifest in solid form, but, like the Masters, have evolved into thought forms and concepts. We feel the Masters in our minds and know them to be real. Humans feel them as something vague and you give name to that vague concept and call it God, Jehovah, when in fact you really should give those names to the all encompassing Life Force. And the Others you give names like Satan and Beezlebub. They are thought forms too, evil made manifest in the physical beings of the universe._

_Yes, now you know. Evil is real and you have looked upon its face._

Nik lifted the man in his arms and bathed him clean in the warm oceanic waters. Mulder was hardly aware, in far too much pain to be ashamed of his body's involuntary loss of control. The Meta knew this would be the result.

Finally, Mulder slept. For fifteen long hours he slept peacefully, dreaming only normal dreams, of forgotten moments, dreams of no consequence that brought with them no pain or pleasure, just therapy.

* * *

**Day 11 - Tuesday**

**Central Hotel, Seattle**

**2:30 p.m.**

"When, when did he leave?" Scully's eyes pierced Skinner.

"I don't know. He gave me the profiles and walked out. I had no idea he'd left the hotel."

Scully's face turned away. Damn the man!

"Agent Scully, are you concerned he might..."

Scully shook her head to cut him off. "No, I really don't think so."

"Then where...?"

"He said something about a barn that he'd recognize..."

Skinner stared at Scully. Surely Mulder wouldn't be so stupid as to go...Come to think of it, he would.

Damn the man!

* * *

**Day 12 - Wednesday**

**5 a.m. PST**

**Lat: 16 beg 2 min S. Long: 121 beg 9 min E**

**8:30 p.m. local time**

When Mulder awoke the sun had long set, but the night air was warm and the stars blazed. He sat up and found himself dressed in his clean and dry suit. He bore no sign of his physical collapse following the...whatever in hell it was that the Meta had shown him.

_You are awake. Good. Come and eat. It's about time you kept something down long enough to do you some good. I've repaired your body, but there's still nothing like a good solid meal in your stomach._

Mulder's thoughts were a jumbled mixture. He remembered what he had seen and grasped the implications, but the thought no longer made him nauseous. He looked at the Meta in chagrin, regretting the creature had been obliged to clean him up.

_Apologies are unnecessary, lesser men have lost their sanity._

Once again Mulder found himself at a table filled with hot spicy foods. This time the Meta joined him and Mulder delighted at the ability to hold a conversation with his mouth full.

_"The people...I'm more than ever sure there's at least four, the ones I'm seeking, their minds are...infected with this...essence of the Others?"_

_Many on this planet are enmeshed with the essence of what you call evil. Some have the ability to ward it off, some can be infected and fight free of its strictures. But many, far too many, have had their life forces enmeshed with the Others. Once that happens, only physical death might release them._

Mulder suddenly stopped chewing and narrowed his eyes.

" _Where is my sister, Samantha?_ "

Nik looked up. _I don't know._

" _But you could find out, you could..._ "

 _No_.

"What do you mean! You could..." He started to stand, trying to emphasize his point but the Meta held up his hand.

_Even were I to desert my post, I cannot interfere. This is a domestic dispute. It would draw attention to our presence, upsetting the whole, precipitating that which you fear the most._

" _Colonization?_ "

_Or worse. Colonization you could survive. Outright dominion by the Others, you could not. Fight the fights you can win. You have no tools to fight the Others, that is our role. Your mind set is such that you would die before succumbing to that evil._

" _But what about the profiling and this damned ability to go deeper, to mirror_?"

Nik looked at Mulder and pursed his lips. _For a human, your mind is extraordinary. You_ chose _to push the limits until inactive parts of your brain were temporarily...enabled._ _This is what you call mirroring_.

Mulder frowned and pulled his head back. Staring at the Meta in disbelief he was so taken back, he verbalized his thoughts. "I didn't _choose_ to do this! Shit if I had any control it would _never_ have happened! Why do you think I stopped in the first place?"

_Your wife, Patterson..._

"You _know_ about that?" Mulder's eyes narrowed.

Nik sighed _Yeah...it is very close to the surface of your mind._ He shook his head in sympathy _But it does not take from the fact that you pushed yourself so hard as a profiler, you broke through into parts of your mind that lie dormant in most humans. In fact they are still mostly dormant even in you, that's why you have such little control._ It _drives_ you _._

" _I always feared that one day...I'd never get back, that it would take control, completely._ "

_Although your body channels humans you seek, they are unaware of your existence. The Others that meld in their minds feel the conduit you form in the fifth dimension. But they cannot reach through because your mind repels them like water from a duck's back. That is why you could not enter Mostow. It was not his mind you sought to do battle with, but a pure form of the Others, a demon, perhaps you might call it. There is a risk to your body, of course, it may be killed by the actions of the killer, but I promise you your soul will remain untouched._

_That's comforting_ , thought Mulder _I end up as a lost soul. The more things change..._

The Meta chuckled at Mulder's wry thoughts. " _Never fear death of a mere body._ "

Mulder shook his head impatiently. " _Where's this getting us?_ "

_You desire to control the killer's actions, yes?_

" _I've tried, Christ I've tried!"_

 _Mm, it_ is _possible, in theory. You have seen another who could take on the victims' persona so well as to protect the victim by default.*_

 _Lucy Householder_ , Mulder thought sadly. Jesus, that had torn him apart. Knowing she was akin to him, knowing she had similar...abilities. Knowing she could take that final step, to give up control completely and thus save the victim at the expense of her own life.

He buried his face in his hands, remembering her sacrifice. A sacrifice he could not bring himself to achieve. Scully had never understood. None of them could, but he knew, God help him he knew...

 _Lucy_ , Nik touched Mulder's arm in sympathy, _was too damaged. The essence of the Others could not touch her and in the end it was better for her to leave. There is another..._

" _Gibson Praise?_ "

_He is still immature, but his potential is...enormous. But he is not your concern, for the moment._

Mulder pondered that. " _The Consortium, do they have him_?"

_Those who remain do not have him. He is too strong, too powerful, whereas in you, the talent is wild. For all their evils, they kept you alive in order that you might one day be useful. You cannot yet control this talent, but your ability to break into and travel the fifth dimension is a tool that may yet save this planet from the gray ones._

_Consider Lucy. Her ability was_ awakened _by the agony and horror she suffered, but her pain and immaturity broke her._

 _You, however, were crafted with greater finesse._ You _are a weapon, Fox Mulder, one your father knew he could never give away and so, he chose Samantha and allowed you to be forged by the agony of your loss and guilt._

Oh, Christ. He pushed the food away, stood and walked down to face the ocean. He looked up at the stars. His father knew. Christ, it all fell into place now. He was a weapon, a weapon to fight the future, meticulously crafted by his life, his pain, his driving desire to push the limits of everything, even his own mind. It wasn't just the vaccine.

 _Yes,_ now _you understand. There are many weapons in humanity's arsenal. You are one. But not until you learn to control this power and even then...there are parts to it even I do not understand, perhaps to be revealed in time.  
_

_"But I've tried! I've tried to exert control, I..."_

_You cannot exert control until you give up your link to your own body._

" _I tried that once, in Michigan, but I failed to let go completely. I was...afraid that if I let go, I might not get back_."

 _Returning is easier than reaching the killers. Your body knows you and the link is unbreakable -- except by death. But your mind cannot inhabit two bodies at the one time. You_ are _powerful enough to subsume the killer's mind. And the blackness of the Others can be encompassed by you and contained for a short period._

" _Will that put others around my own body at risk?"_

_Mm, possibly, but your body is only a puppet. The killer pulls the strings so if you can prevent his actions, your body will mirror this. You need exert control only long enough to call the authorities and protect the victim. Your own body, meanwhile, still dances to your marionette strings. While you, inhabiting the killer, do no harm, your body does no harm._

" _And these...Others? You're sure they can't get through to...me_?"

_Even if you were to never mirror again, the blackness is always there, always waiting at the edge of the Abyss for those who dare look in. But you will remain forever free, no matter what you choose to do, for your soul is pure._

_Your partner is the same, incorruptible. Like Lucy, you would both die before succumbing. Take comfort in that and return to your work in the knowledge that you do not fight alone._

_"Who are you, what are you?"_

_A metamorphosed human._

_"I don't understand."_

_Many Metas are thousands, tens of thousands of years old, however we are not immortal. We fall prey to the Others, as occasionally do the Masters, as the Others and their minions fall prey to us. But the Others grow bolder and we are as yet too few. My name was Nicholas Page. I was once a Navy Seal. My fight against that which is evil has only moved to a different level._

_We fight the Others, you must fight those the Others have corrupted, those who have become their minions and their slaves. Whether it be gray aliens or serial killers, each is a victim of a greater plague. And each small battle that you win, each life saved may seem like dust in the wind to what I have shown you. Yet each and every one of those is a chink in the defense against the Others. Never see your life or your work as futile, it is far more important than you ever imagined. Do what you can Fox William Mulder. Never give up, for your people depend on you._

Mulder's eyes narrowed as his vision seemed to fall in at the edges, becoming paler and paler.

" _Why did you tell me this_?"

_You were close to succumbing to despair last night. Although it is true that in the past you have been nearer to taking your own life, you were yet too young, the weapon not yet fully forged. Now you have...matured._

_It is time for you to learn the truths you seek. And we needed to give you strength, to give you hope. You are needed here on Earth, for now. You must prevail. And as you have looked into the face of evil, so now I beckon you to lift up your eyes and touch the face of the Masters..._

The words faded in Mulder's mind and he was filled with a sense of peace and wellbeing never before known to him. He felt his spirit sour and for a fleeting moment _knew_ the benevolent power of the Masters. But as surely as he could not look long into the Abyss, he could not long dwell in what he recognized was a form of religious ecstasy. Was this then what the prophets and wise men of the ages had seen but never understood? Before his vision blurred into whiteness, the Meta faded into soft light surrounded by wings.

Mulder chuckled to himself and reached his hand out to the fading Meta. "Well, I'll be damned...an angel."

His hand touched something soft and he blinked a few times to clear his vision. The whiteness became the glare of the sun.

Scully rolled her eyes as he caressed her cheek, "Jesus Mulder, where the _fuck_ have you been!"


	11. Chapter 10

**Day 12 - Wednesday**

**Seattle**

**7:50 a.m.**

"...just like that old movie," West continued, "Remember the look on Charlton Heston's face when he came down from Mount Sinai? Enrapturement is the best way I can describe it. Although Mulder had a tan and he didn't say anything about burning bushes," she added dryly.

Smith shook his head and glanced sideways at his agnostic partner as she ate. "You're kidding, right?"

West spread her toast.

"You're not kidding..."

West just shook her head. "Wait till you see him for yourself. I tell you, I always shook off those spooky stories. Even after the other night on the roof, I could come to grips with it, but this morning?"

She shook her head again.

"So did he say what had happened to him?"

"Nope, just sat there with the biggest shit-eating grin you can imagine and told Scully he'd tell her later."

"And she just accepted that?"

"When I picked her up from the airport the other day, she said he had a whole repertoire of ditches. I think that one is a heretofore unknown species."

* * *

He placed his hands on her shoulder, grinned beatifically in her face and replied, "Look Scully...I promise, I'll talk about it later, right now, I've got an idea about their location."

"Mulder, you just disappeared for fifteen hours...we've got Seattle P.D. out looking for you, we've got agents..."

"All right, well pull them in! Scully, we don't have time for this! They're going to take another kid today or tomorrow. Have they come up with a name yet?"

Scully sucked in a deep breath, tucked her chin in and glared at her ridiculously healthy-looking partner. While she looked disheveled and baggy-eyed from lack of sleep and worry, he looked like he'd just stepped out of an advertisement for a two week cruise to the Caribbean. And for crying out loud, he looked...happy! How in hell did he do it? But Mulder at his most obtuse was a lost cause.

Scully knew there were certain times in her partnership when she had to concede defeat to him. And this was one of them. But she _was_ going to get some answers out of him.

Eventually.

"Okay, Mulder, let's go across to the operations room.

They've covered a lot of territory and we've an 8 a.m. with the team leaders."

Scully pulled her lips to one side in annoyance as he gave her one last million dollar smile and strode jauntily...yep, that was definitely the word, she thought, out the door.

* * *

**Day 13 - Thursday**

**Central Hotel, Seattle**

**From the journal of Crystal Palmer**

Dad's on top of the moon, but he's also feeling somewhat guilty. I keep telling him its not blood money, but he's a bit manic-depressive over it. The mortgage was paid off last week and the hotel and, well, everything, right down to the plate warmers, is finally his and his alone. It's due mostly to having the FBI here for so long. As Dad said, even if they solved the crime and all checked out tomorrow, the contract states two months notice. Being a businessman's hotel, we'll be up to our usual seventy to eighty percent capacity within two weeks, despite being off line for so long.

Anyway, Dad has always kept the hotel in top condition, that's why it's run so well for so long. But now he can afford to get in another manager and additional staff.

He'll do it once the FBI leave. We could do it now, of course, but they'd have to run background checks and, well, with just the nine of us it's okay. And I really think Dulcie should be put out to pasture. She won't know what to do with herself so she'll want to work, but Dad agrees with me, she deserves a rest.

Dad's talking about taking time off himself, too. I'd like that. I'd like him to meet a nice woman and have a fling. I know that sounds odd coming from a daughter, but he is only fifty four and he looks a lot younger. Of course he laughs when I tell him that, and I see the pain in his eyes because he sure as hell misses Mom, even after seven years.

I'm still not certain which way I want to jump on this. I had numerous companies ready to take me on, but didn't feel willing to make a hard commitment until my doctorate was official. I'd pretty well decided pure research is not my forte, at least for the moment, nor is academia, so that cuts out the various teaching, post doctoral and research positions. That narrowed the field by about sixty percent.

Big multinational corporations don't really grab me either.

Dad is keen to have me stay close, of course. At the same time he pointed out that I was about to begin my life again, after having it derailed seven years ago, well, twelve years ago if you count one failed marriage. But I don't really think that way. They were periods in my life and I enjoyed them even if they ended badly. After seeing some of the victims' families here, and seeing the harshness of lives and learning about the marriage break-ups of these guys, my life hasn't been bad, just interesting.

Dad told me I should seriously consider moving to a different part of the country and start fresh, really fresh. Make new friends, start a new career, take up a safer sport than cycling -- as if! And find a man to keep my bed warm. That's my Dad, he might be Greek, but he's a pragmatist.

So I made the appointments in Chicago, D.C. and New York.

They looked the best, by far. They're crammed into less than a week but that suits my budget fine. I'd like the chance to look around and see if I'd like living east, but I don't think I'll have that luxury. I was reluctant to leave until the FBI finished here. I suppose it's because I've come this far with them, it's like going to a ball game and leaving ten minutes before the final. And because it leaves Dad short staffed by one. But he was keen to see me get moving on the offers, so I'm off tomorrow. I don't owe anything to the finance companies anymore, but I also own little except a few leftover mementos from our marriage, a couple of good bikes and some average clothes.

It will be nice to start afresh, with money of my own. And the offers on the table are financially attractive, to say the least.

Mulder and Scully came in for lunch on Tuesday, but she didn't stay. She was on her mobile phone just as I came down to take over from Gemma. The place was pretty well deserted, and Gemma told me most of them had asked for lunch to be delivered to their work stations. Something big was obviously afoot.

Mulder came over to the bar and had his lunch there. He actually ate a decent meal for once. In fact he looked better than I'd seen him in days. That...thing...that happened to him the previous night seemed to have left him for now. We talked for a bit, then he mentioned that idiot newspaper headline. I was surprised, but by the way he talked, got the feeling he wanted to hear my take on it. I couldn't say, of course, that I was the last person to ask because I'd been made privy to what really happened to him, so I told him the other truth.

"I read Skinner's press release and I think it effectively squashes anyone stupid enough to lend weight to it. Right about now I think Freddie Baxter will be on paper clip duty."

He looked at me blankly.

"Fred Baxter is the idiot that wrote that byline. How he convinced even his boss to a front page headline as asinine and ignorant as that I can only speculate, but the afternoon papers will be so full of that stuff you've given them, this," I gestured to a copy of the paper under the bar, "Will be relegated to page 183 of the National Enquirer."

"The National Enquirer is not that thick."

"Exactly."

He grinned at me. Boy, I would do a lot to see that grin more often.

We talked for a bit and he asked me the weirdest questions. Did I know anything about mythological creatures like, for example, flying horses and where could he buy a map of the eastern parts of Seattle? I wasn't going to even try and speculate how those two items fitted in that convoluted mind of his, so I rummaged around and gave him a couple of online addresses. They've got big printers across the road so he could print out reasonable scale maps there.

About 4 p.m. I heard he'd gone missing. There was something close to panic around here. I think after the press leaked his name, there was a feeling that the suspects might have killed him. Skinner spent a good part of the night in and out of here. I can't honestly remember what we talked about, but it covered a lot of ground. I think he just needed to get his mind off Mulder's disappearance.

I had a lot of trouble figuring out what I should call him. A.D.

didn't quite cut it and sir might have worked if I'd remained just a hotel staff member. But we'd developed something a little beyond that. Walt reminded me of Disney and Walter, or heaven forbid, Wally?...No, no way. Mr. Skinner? Nobody called him that and it seemed as formal as sir. In the end I settled on Skinner. He looked like a Skinner. Well, more than he looked like a Wally.

What the hell, most of the agents around here call each other by their last names, it didn't seem out of place.

Next morning, Mulder shows up looking like he'd been on vacation in Bermuda for about two weeks. Goddamned spooky, really! He looked fit and healthy and sported a tan! But the weirdest of all was that he just appeared. I mean, just seemed to appear out of thin air. Scully and West were parked at a gas station out east. They'd found his car abandoned the night before in the same area. Scully had this idea he had gone off searching for particular kind of barn. This was after I'd told them what he'd asked me.

Anyway, next thing, poof, Mulder's in the back seat, a bit dazed and no memory of how he'd gotten there.

Their first thought was that he had hared out again and just lost track of time, saw the car and wandered across and got in. But West insists nobody got in the car. She had not had her back turned as she pumped gas. Scully had gone to the ladies' room, so Scully's convinced West she must have missed it when she was paying the bill.

But I don't buy it. I can't see West making a mistake like that. Besides, he looked far too healthy.

I was cleaning the rooms opposite Skinner's that morning.

I hate being privy to someone's private conversation, but Skinner just about tore strips off Mulder for his Houdini act. He demanded a full explanation of where in hell Mulder had been. I didn't catch much of Mulder's reply because he was a lot calmer than Skinner, but he said something about being unable to fully recall. Skinner answered that Mulder had gotten away with far too many unexplained disappearing acts and breaches of protocol in the past, taking up FBI and SPD manpower that were desperately overworked as it was, and so on. I wanted to leave the room and come back later, but I'm ashamed to admit, I was just as curious as everyone else over Mulder's disappearance.

After a few minutes of this tirade, I could tell Skinner wasn't so much angry as frustrated...and relieved and the conversation, by necessity, turned to the profiling aspects of the case.

The whole thing sure as hell enhanced Mulder's Spooky reputation. I'm pretty certain the matter would have been examined more thoroughly, but the fact was, it blew over fast because by then, they had a very, very short list of suspects and had started pulling in the net. And that's when things really began to heat up.

Later that morning I helped the technicians flown in from D.C. to work through some of the bugs in their antiquated systems. They complained that this was nothing like the stuff they had to work with at home, then spent most of the time sending stuff back to D.C. That made sense, sheesh. I spent most of mine making sure no glitches held up the transfer of data. It was scud work, I know 12-year-olds who could do it, but the point was, I had the time now, and these guys had more important things to do. The tension had gone through the roof, although everyone was happier now Mulder was back. I'm not so sure if it was because they were glad to see him, or thankful they could walk anywhere within fifty feet of Scully without having their balls retreat into their throats.

They continued to talk freely around me. I know they weren't supposed to, but I would never betray their trust.

They were narrowing the field down and it all seemed to be coming to a head, so I didn't feel so bad when I told them I was off the next day. I think it suddenly hit a few of the techs who'd been there a while that I was an unpaid volunteer, so they bought me a farewell bottle of champagne and all signed a card. They made me promise I'd visit them if I was still in the D.C. area when they got home. It was nice, really nice of them and for the first time, I thought I'd miss them.

Skinner came down about midnight. I had only started my shift a few minutes before and it crossed my mind that his arrival might have been planned. It always seemed to work that way. But I shook that off as plain silly. None of them have time to scratch themselves at the moment, certainly not the A.D.

I'd come to enjoy these late night sessions with him. By then, we were like old friends. He asked me if he could get something to eat, so I handed him the menu and told him he could have anything he wanted. He ordered a steak with heaps of mushrooms and onions and black pepper and garlic sauce and a big salad. He followed me to the kitchen and we talked all over the place while I made him dinner. Very casual, very domestic. It was easy to forget for a while why he was there.

I broke my own rules and agreed to share a half bottle of red wine with him while he ate. The restaurant was surprisingly empty and he said it was because things were getting very close and everyone had been told to get a good night's sleep. I asked what about him and he replied he never followed his own rules. Besides, he'd manage to get five straight hours that afternoon.

A few nights back I found myself talking about career options. I hadn't meant to, but he's a good cop. He asked a few questions and next thing you know, I'm spilling it all.

I said detectives probably made the best lovers because they knew how to listen. He laughed then. Honestly laughed.

I'd never seen him do that before and he looked fantastic.

His whole face just came alive and his cheeks actually reddened. It was just wonderful. Best of all, the laughter stayed in his eyes for a long time.

I suppose I'd taken for granted he knew I was leaving for D.C. in a few hours. But of course he didn't. Stupid assumption on my behalf. It's not like he discusses such things with the technicians and other agents. But I was a bit taken back by the look on his face when I said something about catching up with sleep on the plane.

"You're flying somewhere?"

"D.C., job interviews."

He actually stopped chewing and blinked at me. "I didn't realize."

I chuckled, hiding my own surprise. "Why would you?" I went on to tell him how the guys across the road had given me the champagne and how sweet I thought they were. He had pretty well finished by then and pushed his plate aside.

"How long are you going down for?"

"A week. I'm stopping in Chicago on the way, I have five interviews there late today and Friday, then on to D.C. I'd like to stay two or three weeks, to get a feel for the area, but I can't afford to live in hotels, even at industry rates, until I'm a wage earner again." I grinned.

He asked me where I was staying and I replied. He sort of grimaced and I said, well, that was my budget. Then he looked thoughtful for a moment and promptly floored me.

"You can stay in my apartment if you like. I won't be getting back to D.C. until this is over and as much as I'd like to think that will be within a week, I doubt it. Even if I do, it's a big place and I'm rarely there."

I must have looked as shocked as I felt so he added "Frankly, you'd be doing me a favor. It's a secure building but I don't like leaving the place empty for long and after ten days, the plants start dying."

I really didn't know what to say. I was a perfect stranger and here he was offering me his apartment. Okay, sure, he knew my background and that I was circumspect, but still, it was his home and he was an assistant director with the FBI. Oh, boy, how do I say no?

Then I thought, why should I say no? He was just a man, someone I might have called a friend if the circumstances had differed. Then it struck me that for someone like this, when would the circumstances be different? When he was out dinner partying and playing politics? Were those people friends or necessary professional acquaintances?

I had, over the course of a short, intense and painful week, developed a friendship with this man. And to be honest, felt more than a little attracted to him.

The silence stretched a bit but before it became embarrassing I replied "That's very generous of you, but you really don't know me that well and I..."

"I know you."

That's it. That's all he said, but I could see it in his eyes. He trusted me. And for the second time that week I felt both humbled and honored. By saying no I would be throwing something far more than just the offer of a clean bed back in his face, I would be repudiating his trust.

I smiled and said "I'd be very grateful...but you may have to kick me out because if I decide anything while I'm there, negotiations may drag out."

He grinned. It was almost as good as his laugh. I'm sure few if any of the agents had ever seen that grin and I found myself with one more reason to hope this case finished soon.

"I'll call my building manager and get him to let you in.

There are spare keys and security codes with him. What time does your flight get in?"

"Five thirty tomorrow evening."

"Fine, I'll have a car pick you up and..."

"Whoa!" I put my hand up and laughed, "You don't have to do that! I can catch a cab."

He looked at me with a peculiar expression then said in an uncompromising voice "I believe the FBI owes you considerably more than a cab fare for the assistance you have given us."

I think my face must have dropped a little because suddenly his offer seemed less personal. And I don't know why it should have but it saddened me. Before I could comment, he put his hand on mine and added gently, "But the apartment is mine, not the FBI's."

And so help me I actually blushed. When I thought about it later, my reaction had been pretty stupid because Skinner *was* the FBI. Everything he did and said and touched and breathed was as much FBI as Skinner. There was no distinction and if I was to respect that friendship, I had to reconcile that right now.

Fortunately, he didn't see the blush because Mulder interrupted us. Skinner nodded a good night and left with him. Mulder smiled at me in recognition, said good morning and wished me luck in D.C.

That floored me. Floored Skinner, too.

"Thanks," I replied. "And good luck to you guys...Not that you'll need it. The way you're going you'll have them nailed before I get back."

Mulder smiled. "I wish!"

I often think about Mulder when I make a wish now.

* * *

**Day 14 - Friday**

**FBI Headquarters - Seattle**

**11:50 p.m.**

Mulder bit a sunflower seed between his teeth as he halflistened to the briefing. Scully stood close to him, her hip touching his upper thigh. She leaned more heavily into him as two additional men entered, crowing a room already overflowing with bodies, tension and excitement. None of them had expected the situation to develop this rapidly, but now, with a child's life at stake, they had no choice.

Mulder normally took his partner's proximity for granted, but as his senses were heightened for the coming raid, so he became acutely aware of the press of her body, her unique scent, the texture of her soft hair. The new kevlar jacket bulked her out disproportionately. Although they came in various sizes, the manufacturers had not considered frames as small as Scully's.

He glanced down at her affectionately as she nudged him in the ribs for his constant, irritable cracking. He found one of her hands with his and tried to pour some of the seeds in, but she rolled her eyes in displeasure. God, he loved teasing her, she was so easily baited in a nice, Scully way.

Skinner finished up quickly and agents and SWAT team members exited the room.

Six hours previously they had names, a possible location and what they'd hoped would be at least three or four days to verify and cross check everything. They wanted the entire team caught up in one net. By then, Mulder was certain of five perpetrators. They had the names of two Sarah Jefferson and Steve Baxter. Their known associates Adam James and Jacob Milner -- were also high on the list of suspects,. James was a definite hit. He was known as dickless by those who'd known him in San Diego, because he lacked certain physical attributes. He also fitted Mulder's profile like a glove. These then, were their four primary suspects involved in the abduction, rape, murder and dismemberment of dozens of children. Mulder had written an in-depth profile on what he said was the fifth man, the wealthy client who liked to watch. At this stage, Mulder's biggest fear was that the net would close too soon to capture this fifth man.

"Mulder..." Skinner made the younger agent wait up. "You know we can't risk leaving it any longer. Another day, another few hours..."

Skinner did not have to elaborate. The child, a 10-year-old boy name Geoff Murphy, had not arrived home from school that afternoon. In what amounted to a real break, one of his friends told them that about a week before he'd seen Geoff talking to a woman with some fingers missing from one of her hands. When shown a picture of Sarah, the witness' eyes had lit up. Yep, that was the woman.

It was not definite that their suspects had abducted Geoff, but the coincidence was too chilling to ignore.

Mulder had flown across the farm in a helicopter just after dark. Night vision goggles limited his perception, but he knew. Christ, he knew. The minute the chopper flew across the trees he'd ordered the pilot to veer away.

Although the chopper, at 3,000 feet at 8:30 p.m., was unlikely to alert the suspects, Mulder was taking no chances. That was the farm. There was the barn he had almost leaped from in his empathic mirroring with Rod Fowler, whose dismembered body had been discovered that morning.

It was tearing at Mulder, and Skinner knew it. Mulder wanted then to wait. He was convinced the fifth man, the client, would arrive before...shit... Mulder also knew that if Adam James was at the farm, once the boy arrived, he wouldn't wait. It was possible, no, more than possible likely -- that James had already sexually assaulted the boy.

Only Sarah could control James and there was no guarantees she was at the farm, either.

"Sir, this is a wild pig shoot. We're going in blind. All we know is that the farm is occupied by an unknown number of suspects who may be armed to the teeth. For all we know the entire place is booby trapped. We don't even know for sure they have the boy there!"

Scully touched her partner's arm, sympathizing with his plight.

Skinner nodded his agreement. "Yet, we can't wait."

Mulder sighed and nodded. Shit.

They approached in teams of four. Three teams had been designated around the perimeter, searching for possible entrances to underground bunkers. There had been momentary panic when a dog began barking. A silenced bullet ceased the animal's alarm and Mulder cursed. Fuck it! They had needed time to find all this shit out! Dogs! How many?

Goddamn the unanswered questions starting to pile up in his brain as he approached the barn with his team.

He knew this building. He'd been inside before. Would they keep young Geoff in here half frozen to death as they had Rod Fowler? Had Geoff already been sodomized by that bastard and now lay huddling in a corner, terrified as well as freezing? Or would he take Rod's way out and try to kill himself after the first assault, knowing the second would be more brutal, wondering if he, too, would be cut into small pieces?

Scully motioned her side was clear. He waved for Murdoch to go ahead. In moments they were hidden among the shadows along the side of the barn. But if someone in the house threw on an outdoor light, their footprints would be clearly visible in the fresh snow.

Fuck it, they had to get in fast. He could just make out a dark shape, then another near the back door of the large farmhouse.

Scully motioned again; they'd gained entrance to the barn.

Circle, cover, watch your back. Yeah, he knew this place.

He could recall the smell now. Acidic, caustic like industrial strength detergents. Bleach. He blinked, clearing away the memories. Stop, listen.

A whimper?

Motion to Murdoch, yeah, he heard it too. Where was Scully? Okay, yep, up the ladder but it exposes her to strong moonlight. Of all the fucking times for the weather to be clear, and an almost full moon hanging two thirds the way up the sky.

Yeah, yeah, that was definitely a whimper.

Gunshots echoed from a hundred meters away. He caught Henderson's eye in the dark. No. Stay. We find the boy first.

A scream "No..! Please, I promise...I'll do whatever you want, just don't...don't cut me."

"Team leader, this is Mulder," he whispered quietly, "We have at least one, repeat one, suspect holding the boy inside the barn."

"Copy, Mulder."

Some miles away, an intrepid police groupie had been listening avidly to what the Seattle P.D. jokingly thought was a secure radio channel. He picked up his telephone and dialed the local news service. The 200-buck finder fee would be a nice little bonus for the weekend's fun.

Scully froze on the ladder, then dropped quietly back down and moved into the shadows as a second voice echoed through the barn.

"Shut the fuck up! Something's wrong and we're gonna see what it is."

But Jacob Milner had caught sight of movement on the ladder. And it sure weren't no rat, it was too big for that.

"Who's there? Is that you, Steve? What's going on?"

No answer, although Scully roundly cursed herself for being seen.

Mulder pointed to Henderson to cover the main doors. He remembered the barn had a second entrance on the far side and he motioned for Murdoch to cover the back part of the huge barn, indicating with his hands a second door.

The two men separated and became invisible in the dark as a passing cloud briefly covered the moon. More gunshots sounded from the house, now followed by shouts and screams.

Scully stood in shadow beneath the ladder.

"What the fuck is going on?" Milner cried, "Who's there?"

Silence. Mulder glanced at his watch, it was almost dawn.

"Fuck it! Answer me or I'll slit the kids throat!"

"Noooo...please mista!"

Sounds of squirming and crying and grunting, a heavy slap "No shut up, ya little shit, before I use this to shut ya up!"

Wracking sobs, slowing.

"Now answer me! I know ya down there! I want to know what the fuck's going on or I'll pig stick him!"

Mulder motioned for Scully to answer. Then he took off into the shadows. She looked at him mutely, but there was no time for an explanation now.

"This is the FBI, sir, please leave the boy and come on down."

"Fuck! Fucking cunt! What do you mean, what the fuck do you want?"

"We'd just like you to come down so we can talk to you!"

"Yeah? So you and your buddies can shoot me? Fuck, what's going on over in the house, what's all the shooting?"

Mulder heard his partner's gentle voice try to pacify the man he was sure was Milner, but he knew he had only minutes, perhaps less, before Milner panicked and killed Geoff. Jacob Milner was weak, like Adam James. He would need Steve Baxter to guide him. As if to emphasize Mulder's thought, Milner asked where Steve was. Scully tried to tell him if he's just come down, she'd take him to Steve.

By now, Scully would have heard through her ear implant, as Mulder had, that Sarah Jefferson, Adam James and Steve Baxter were dead. Two agents were down, Jawolski and Myers and an unnamed SPD officer. And the barn was being surrounded by dozens of law enforcement officers.

Mulder moved out the door and caught Skinner's bulky shape in the pre-dawn light.

"Sir!"

"Talk to me."

"He's in the loft, holding the boy. Scully's trying to talk him down but she won't do any good. Delay at best...I have to get up there."

"We'll send a couple of the SWAT guys,"

"Sir, I know the layout, I'm the only one who knows exactly how to get in and stay hidden."

Skinner glared at him. He might be FBI, but in unarmed combat, the SWAT team members were better.

"Sir there is no more *time*!"

Skinner nodded and explained the situation in his mike. It would be relayed to the backup teams and EMT's on standby.

Mulder glanced up at the window. All he needed was a boost up.

"Sir?"

Skinner cupped his hands and hoisted the much lighter man.

Mulder stepped on his shoulder while four or five agents and SWAT team members came around, keeping to the shadows.

Skinner cursed lightly and Mulder apologized, thinking he might have kicked his A.D. in the head, but as he looked down, he heard in his earpiece.

"Media's here."

Shit! How did they find out?

Mulder ignored it and reaching up with both hands, grasped the window frame and pulled himself up until he could look inside. No sign of Milner. Okay. He lowered himself down for a moment then used momentum to pull himself all the way up onto the ledge. Fragments of glass stick stuck out from the long broken window, but Mulder eased quietly over them and inside.

Scully was telling Milner she would go outside and find Steve and bring him back.

"Don't you trick me you cunt! I'm giving you two minutes and that's it! I wanna know what all the shooting was about!" He all but screamed the last words.

Good. It gave Mulder a location. Around there in the next corner. Excellent. Milner had his back to Mulder, but he held the boy in front of him. Not good. If Mulder shot him without warning, the bullet would likely go through him and into the boy. He had to get them separated.

Mulder kept to the wall and approached closer, but his foot caught on a piece of machinery buried amongst the accumulated filth.

Milner turned, "What the fuck! Who are you?"

In his stupid fear he had let the boy go, swung on Mulder and dived at the agent. Mulder still could not fire his weapon because the boy, tall for his age remained directly behind the Milner, now only a few feet away. A bullet to the torso would go right through them both. A bullet to the head then, but Mulder couldn't see in the dark shadows. He simply could not risk the shot.

Mulder blocked the tackle, but it was too late. Jacob Milner was a big man, bigger than Skinner and just as muscular. He knew he was dead and he lashed out at Mulder, a blood lust overtaking him, determined to kill. Determined to see and touch and taste blood one last time. He lunged past Mulder's defenses, slamming the blade into the agent's throat.

Mulder thought he'd been punched and fell back with it, to lessen the blow. If he hadn't, the knife would have plunged through into his spinal column. As it was he simply staggered backwards then countered with a violet twisting kick that should have felled the bigger man. In his peripheral vision Mulder could see shapes swarming up the ladder, but he was too busy trying to avoid the flashing blade of the knife. He was also slightly annoyed that he couldn't seem to breathe properly and his throat seemed oddly congested. The pain of the punch had not yet registered but a small part of his brain wondered if his throat had been damaged from the blow.

"Freeze!" The oddly powerful voice of his partner penetrated the loud scuffles and shouts from down below.

But Milner was incapable of anything but completing the kill. He lashed out at Mulder, who, stepping back, tripped on a bundled rope. As he fell, he saw the blade slash at him and this time he felt the sharp sting and well of blood. But the fall, moving him out of effective range, saved his life. Scully fired an instant later, splattering Mulder with blood and bone and gray matter as Miller's body hit the floor with a resounding thunk.

Mulder went to curse in pain, but his mouth filled with blood. Panic clawed at him as he found he could not draw air. Scully was by his side in an instant, telling him to lie still while the EMT's came.

"They're just outside, they'll be here in a sec, Mulder are you injured anywhere else?"

As compared to what? He thought. My fucking throat's cut and I can't breathe, isn't that enough?

Scully's eyes widened at his frantic motion to stand. He pushed her out of the way and staggered into the dawn light now shining through the window. A small part of his mind thought well, at least if you're gonna die, it's a pretty nice sunrise to take with you.

Scully immediately grasped what the problem was, "Mulder sit down! Your trachea's probably damaged, we need to get your airway open!"

No shit, Dr. Watson.

He put his hands to his throat as he staggered and sat, trying to find what he knew must be happening, life blood pumping out through his carotid.

Scully brushed his hands aside. "It's not that bad Mulder, stop fighting me! You're not going to bleed to death but you may pass out from lack of oxygen before we can clear the passageway. Now just lay down and let me have a look!"

Easy for you to say. His body was panicking now.

What drives us to breathe is not, as most people assume, the need for oxygen, it is the need to clear our bodies of poisonous carbon dioxide. Additionally, lack of breathing will eventually lead to oxygen starvation, causing the victim to pass out. However in the time frame between CO2 buildup ordering the body to breathe and oxygen-deprived fainting, the human body will flail about desperately, seeking a way to breathe. Mulder knew that he had to lie still in order for Scully to save him, but it fought against every human instinct in him to...to what? His logical brain asked him.

The EMTs arrived in seconds. He heard Scully telling them what to do, but his brain screamed at him so loudly he could hardly hear. Then intense pain as someone pulled the grotesque lips of his wounded neck and trachea apart and plunged a tube down his throat.

Oh God! Blessed air! They connected him to on oxygen unit immediately. He really didn't need it, just the mere fact of being able to breathe again was the most phenomenal sensation he could imagine. He closed his eyes a moment, then opened them as Scully asked if he was hurt anywhere else. He blinked as he realized the back of his head actually hurt more than his throat. So he tried a small grin and winked at his partner.

Scully allowed herself to calm down. He would be all right. This time. But, Jesus, how many lives did he have left?


	12. Chapter 11

**DAY 15 - Saturday**

**Crystal City, Virginia**

**From the journal of Crystal Palmer**

I really had no idea what to expect in a successful professional Washington bachelor's apartment.

Being chauffeured from the airport by a FBI driver was one thing, then the building manager's polite, downright gracious treatment was something else again. But when I stepped foot into Skinner's apartment I was not pleasantly surprised. I was delighted.

I suppose one's expectations are bound to be clichéd, even if I hadn't decided what a cliche would look like.

Certainly neat and modern, but light, airy and casually comfortable was not it. No dark walnut roll top desks, no black leather lounges. Nope, Skinner had elegant and practical taste. And not a bargain basement piece in sight.

The building manager had been in earlier and made sure the heat was on, so I stripped off my overcoat and explored.

After a quick once over I went upstairs. Two bedrooms, one clearly his and the other clearly unprepared for guests.

That made me feel better. Everything about him was just a little too neat and tidy for a bachelor. The guest room was not exactly a mess, but would need twenty minutes work to make tidy and make livable.

I had to go through his bedroom closet to find spare sheets, although there were plenty of pillows and blankets in the guest room. I have absolutely no inclination to rummage through people's closets. It's one thing I really hated about cleaning in the hotel. You're invading the personal space of strangers and it makes you feel unpleasantly voyeuristic. But I couldn't stop peeking a bit at Skinner's things. I told myself if he had anything serious to hide, he would never have invited me to stay.

Anyway, it was just a quick look, just to see the man beneath the suit.

Yep, there was. Casual jeans, some pretty old and worn.

Pure wool sweaters and expensive, casual shirts. He had simple, good taste. I closed the door quickly, already feeling a little guilty for lingering.

Chicago had been a nightmare. No way could I live there or work with those people. But timing my arrival in D.C. on a Friday night, at the same time as every other damned inbound and outbound commuter flight, was a major blunder.

Baggage collection had been the usual interminable nightmare and I reminded myself to thank Skinner big time, for having a car waiting. Cabs were like hens teeth.

My prospective employees worked seven day weeks, so I'd organized interviews over the weekend. I had a few more on Monday in D.C., then the remainder in N.Y. on Tuesday and Wednesday. It was a tight schedule but I'd planned it that way to get my head inside the whole thing and make a decision without vacillating. If all went well, I'd be down to two or three choices and could go home, let them rummage around in my mind and one would pop out the clear winner.

I hadn't had much sleep the previous night. Lumpy mattress, neon lights outside the window and disappointment that once promising jobs turned out to be flops. By the time I'd stacked a few files and cases out of the way and made the bed in Skinner's spare room, all I wanted was to shower and sleep.

There was only one bathroom and it was fairly neat and tidy. Not so clean as to inspire paranoia, but a hell of a lot better than most bachelor bathrooms I'd been in. For starters, apart from one sorry looking fern, there were no undiscovered life forms peeking through insalubrious cracks. I cheered up the plant by producing lots of nice steam, then hit the bed for an amazing, at least for me, ten hours straight sleep.

The following two days were a blur of hand shakes and artificial smiles, endless cups of coffee and getting to know you interviews. I got lost. Twice. And splurged huge amounts of money on cabs to the far reaches of rural Columbia. Staying at Skinner's meant the budget was well under track, so I stopped berating myself and took in some of the scenery. One good thing, D.C. seems to understand cyclists' needs better than Seattle. Not exactly the number one reason for living somewhere, but high on my priority list.

By Saturday night, I had smiled myself out and sat tiredly curled up on Skinner's cream-colored couch with a thick company prospectus in hand. I'd managed to find a gym on the way home, having carried some stuff with me, just in case. I'm the sort of person that gets very antsy after a few days, especially days like the last three, unless I can work it out. A lot of the agents back in Seattle couldn't figure out why Mulder needed to run in all weather. Despite the odd hours, I knew, I get the same way unless I can ride. And no bike means running -- not an attractive prospect in a strange city at night, so I'd settled on a gym.

So there I was post shower, wrapped in Skinner's unbelievably comfortable bathrobe, turbaned hair and not a scrap of makeup, when I heard the front door open. I just about jumped out of my skin as two big burly black clad figures came in.

I'm not a small person. I stand five ten in bare feet and weigh one hundred and thirty. I'm no Barbie doll, that's for sure. Well, yeah, my legs are long, but I'm essentially an athlete. That's how I put myself through college as an undergraduate. I just missed out on the Olympic cycling team way back when, and have never given it up. But these guys were big, muscle and bone big, not overweight big and I felt very vulnerable and small in my undressed state until I saw who it was. Then I just felt like an idiot.

The only saving grace was the priceless look on the other agent's face. If I hadn't been so embarrassed myself, I would have laughed. As it was, all I wanted to do was explain why in hell I was wearing Skinner's bathrobe. Not much you can really say in a situation like that, but I managed to compound my idiocy with an utterly brilliant observation.

"You're back!"

Skinner offered me a quick smile and hello, turned to the other agent and thanked him for helping with his bags. He introduced us but offered no explanation, then simply said to the other man, "I'll see you in the morning."

"Yes, sir, good night sir, good night Dr. Palmer, nice to meet you." Make no mistake, those "sirs" were quite emphatic.

"Good night, Agent Rostler."

Then he was gone.

Meanwhile, Skinner had pulled off his coat and loosened his tie. He looked like a man who desperately needed a drink.

"Scotch or tequila?" was all I could think to say as I stood up and headed for the kitchen.

He snorted a dry laugh and looked up at me. "That obvious, huh?"

"I bought some Cointreau and limes. I might be of Greek descent but I make a mean margarita."

"As long as it comes in an 8-ounce glass."

"That bad, huh?"

He shrugged, sat down heavily and laid his head back.

A few minutes later I handed him a large, salt-rimmed brandy glass. I made a much smaller one for myself. He must have heard me coming because he sat up, opened his eyes and took the drink from me. I wasn't sure what to say, so started by apologizing for pilfering his bath robe.

"It's just so much thicker and warmer than mine. See what you let yourself in for when you have house guests like me?"

His face screwed up as he took a long sip of his drink and he replied. "Keep making margaritas like than and you can be my house guest anytime."

He twisted the rim slightly to lick the salt, took another drink, closed his eyes and let it slide down his throat. I make a mean belly-warming brain-numbing drink and if he hadn't eaten on the plane, I knew it would already be having an effect.

He opened his eyes, looked at me then said, "It's over."

"What?" I was stunned. I mean I'd been on the hop for three days and hadn't heard a scrap of news or seen a headline. I glanced at my watch, looked across at the television and flicked my eyes to him. His eyebrows indicated yes, so I turned it on, channel-surfed until I found a news cast and lo and behold, there was Skinner giving a press briefing. Before I had a chance to adjust the volume, the image changed to a scene outside a farmhouse with a barn in the background. There were flashing lights and paramedic vehicles and police cars and SWAT teams and FBI jackets crawling all over the place.

"In a dawn raid on a farmhouse just outside Seattle SWAT teams and FBI combined with local police, swooped in on..."

Swooped in on? I thought, who writes this crap?

"...the house of the primary suspects in what has become know as the Seattle Line Killings. Following the arrival of one of the FBI's crack profilers on the case, Special Agent Fox Mulder," here they inserted a photo of Mulder that would have had top modeling agencies vying for him, "...and forensic pathologist Special Agent Dana Scully,"

another modeling agency photo "...a case that had become all but deadlocked until two weeks ago was cracked wide open. The dawn raid led to a shootout resulting in the deaths of all four suspects..."

"Oh, shit..." I muttered as I watched the controlled pandemonium on screen.

"Yep, a real rat fuck." Skinner muttered.

"...two FBI agents and a police officer were killed and three injured, including the FBI's profiler Fox Mulder..."

"Oh, no..." I put my hand to my mouth as FBI agents and paramedics carried a stretcher towards the camera. A saline drip and a flash of Scully's distinctive red hair came into view, then her anguished face, then Mulder's face, neck swaddled in bandages with a tube sticking out.

They carried him past the camera and into the ambulance.

I kept watching the unfolding scene but turned the volume down and looked at Skinner, suddenly fearful of what he was going to say. He saw my face and knew immediately.

"He's okay. Caught a knife in the throat. Won't be able to talk for a couple of weeks but I don't know that's a bad thing, keep him out of trouble."

I closed my eyes, feeling tears prick them. It wasn't like I'd known them that well. I think part of it was me feeling guilty at how much I'd resented their presence when they'd been prepared to put themselves on the line to protect us from such monsters. And now three of them were dead. Shit.

It hurt. The only saving grace was that Mulder would be all right.

Skinner's eyes were still closed so I turned off the television and sat quietly for a few minutes. He'd finished the drink, so I reached for his glass to top it up. Our hands touched and his eyes flew open and pierced me.

There are certain moments in time we are destined never to forget. Profound moments when words are useless, but meaning is thick and heavy in the air. At that moment I saw in Skinner a raw need, a desire that was almost staggering in its intensity. My own emotions were more than a little raw and I knew, we both knew, that all it would take would be a blink to set it off. An intense wave of desire flooded me, a need to give and also take solace in this mans arms.

Despite every nerve in me screaming, I knew it was wrong.

Oh I'm not against a roll in the hay for fun, or in this case because two human beings just needed a little comfort in one another. But just because you desire someone intensely, almost painfully, does not mean getting into bed with them should automatically result, despite the circumstances. People like Mulder and Scully for example.

God only knows they would have felt a much more powerful need than what we felt that night, but professional restraint both binds them and keeps them at arm's length.

That they can sublimate natural, raw desire for each other and focus it into their work and dedication for one another is a testimony to that professionalism. Even if I personally thought their denial was folly, I knew it was not folly denying myself. At least not for now.

I think Skinner realized it the moment I did. He suddenly looked away. I swallowed and asked if he wanted another drink and he nodded wordlessly.

When I returned from the kitchen, I asked him to tell me what had happened.

"Pretty much what you saw."

I sat on the couch beside him. Given what had passed between us a few moments before, the proximity was risky, but I sensed him closing down behind professional walls and wanted to get inside.

"Skinner, don't shut me out of this, I'm already part of it. Hell, I was part of before you and I think, under the circumstances, I deserve to know."

He breathed deeply and replied "ABC covered it pretty well."

"Hey," I risked touching his arm "I'm no psychologist, but you refused to talk about this to your wife and family and friends because by blocking it off, you kept them in a safe, clean place. You wanted to come home to that safe place and ease your soul. But that's not who you are. You are FBI and it never leaves you. Shutting it out meant shutting yourself out from those around you. Skinner, you learned that mistake once. Don't shut me out, it's too late for that because I am already a part of it. I have an emotional investment in it and I need closure just as much as you."

He looked at me oddly, his head turned to one side, then he abruptly nodded and began.

* * *

**Day 17 - Monday**

**Harborview Medical Center**

Mulder spent the following forty eight hours in considerable discomfort from the throat surgery. Although Scully would have preferred to remain in Seattle, at least until her partner was more alert, it was deemed more important for her to return to D.C. to tidy up the loose forensic ends.

A small collection of videotapes, the gruesome trophies, and the statement from the last boy, Geoff Murphy, were sufficiently damning evidence to lay the blame for the Seattle Line Killings on the four dead suspects.

The mercurial press hailed the agents, particularly Mulder, as heroes. For once Mulder was not ungrateful for being wounded, especially in the throat. It was the perfect foil for nosy reporters. He did, however, have another form of communication -- his laptop computer and a phone line.

After two days communicating with his partner by a semicontinuous stream of e-mail, his thoughts and notes faltered from the case and became increasingly introspective and personal. At other times he would have confined such thoughts to his personal journal, but his inability to talk with her, and the revelations by the Meta, dissolved many of the boundaries they normally kept in place. What he had learned, what he had experienced had changed him, in ways he would never have believed. And now it was time to discover if his partner could face his new truths or if this was truly to become his solitary journey once more.

_Seattle the To: D_Scully@fbi.gov_

_From: F_Mulder@fbi.gov_

_1:15 p.m. local time_

I know it frustrates the hell out of you that you I have not answered your question as to what happened to me last Tuesday. In truth, with the events thereafter, it has taken me some time to consider what I have learned. After our debriefing of the morgue incident, I believed I slept, but the incident on the rooftop overshadowed what I would naturally have ascribed to a dream. In retrospect it predicted my later disappearance.

Scully, I have at times been less than empathic with your religious convictions. I could not take faith in that which might in any way negate my ability to control my own fate.

Perhaps my inability to trust a so called higher authority comes in part from being manipulated so long by lesser beings. Perverse, isn't it, considering my thoughts on fate versus free will?

I once asked you if you could prove the existence of God, would you not seek to do so? At that time you seemed content to accept faith alone was sufficient but I believe your cancer had necessarily impacted on your world view.

I know you have taken great comfort in your faith. I both respected and in many ways envied that. Forgive me, but I could never reconcile this with your inability to accept the existence of extraterrestrials. The evidence for this has been considerably more tangible than that of God, despite that physical evidence once eluded me.

As you have indulged and respected my journey for so long, I too have respected your need for your faith in a God. But what I learned during the time of my absence has led me to believe that perhaps the two are one and the same. And therefore I must ask you once more, now that the circumstances of the question differ, if you could prove the existence of God, would you not seek to do so?

M.

_To: F_Mulder@fbi.gov_

_From: D_Scully@fbi.gov_

_9:30 p.m. local time_

You have led me on a journey that has been both enlightening and mystifying. You have challenged my beliefs in science and pushed the barriers of my thinking. And for that, despite my often seeming antagonistic, I am grateful.

The tenets of faith are such that it is faith by which we believe. You cannot prove the existence of God to me any more or less than that which I believe now. I cannot follow you on such a journey Mulder, for it leads nowhere.

What happened to you that day? Are you trying to tell me that your suntan and good health was in some way and act of God and thus offer it as proof of His existence? If so, Mulder, then I would remind you that my proof of God lies all around me. Our very existence is evidence of God. I have no need for such an explanation. I would, however, suggest this theological discussion be postponed until your medication is terminated.

S.

* * *

**Day 18 - Tuesday**

**Harborview Medical Center**

He smiled broadly at her e-mail. He had stopped taking anything stronger than aspirin. The damage to his throat was, although debilitating, not as painful as he might have expected. Ah, how typically Scully! If he offered the evidence of his own body as proof that extraterrestrials existed, she would hmm and haw and demand an alternative explanation. If he offered her this as proof of God, she would necessarily deny that proof could be found. Another explanation must suffice. He smiled a little sadly, knowing that she would never truly accept his world, no matter what proof he could give her. And now that his depth of understanding had broadened beyond his wildest dreams, he felt a deep melancholy that she could not share it with him. At least while she lived. But in other ways his heart was lightened for he had begun to suspect a truth only hinted at by the Meta.

_To: D_Scully@fbi.gov 8:15 a.m. local time_

_From: F_Mulder@fbi.gov_

Ah, Scully! If I tell you the truth, that I was abducted by aliens, it would in fact be a lie. For as we suspected we are all, in part, alien. Do me a favor, would you, and do a background check on a Navy Seal named Nicholas Page? I can't access the database.

I've been reworking the profile of the last UNSUB, the man I suspect was the orchestrator.

I no longer fear mirroring as I once did. In that time away I learned the true nature of evil and feel assured that even should it bring me death, I will never succumb to that particular form of madness.

Of course that does not prevent other forms from taking me .

One final indulgence if you would. Did Clyde Bruckman ever tell you how you would die? I phrase the question lightly because I can assure you after this wound, autoerotic asphyxiation will most definitely not be a factor leading to my own demise.

M.

_To: F_Mulder@fbi.gov 6:15 p.m. local time_

_From: D_Scully@fbi.gov_

I've attached Nicholas Page's file. The Gunmen lifted most of it. He's listed as MIA during a raid in the Gulf War.

Top class honors, brilliant strategist. He had a nickname...

okay, I see the connection. His success rate was so high they called him Spooky. Who was he Mulder, a long-lost cousin?

What does he have to do with this case?

I'm finishing up all my reports and will have them copied to you tomorrow.

I'm not sure how to answer you about Clyde Bruckman. I confess I did ask, but his answer made no sense. He replied, "You don't." Why do you ask?

S.

Mulder read his partner's e-mail, sat back and closed his eyes. It all fell into place now. Scully was destined for a very different path than his. He typed a quick reply, hoping she would still be online.

_To: D_Scully@fbi.gov 3:30 p.m. local time_

_From: F_Mulder@fbi.gov_

You still there? Can you check Page's religious affiliations? Was he an active church or synagogue attendee?

M.

_To: F_Mulder@fbi.gov 6:30 p.m. local time_

_From: D_Scully@fbi.gov_

Yeah, I'm still here. There is nothing in his background check except the annotation that he was agnostic. Mulder, who is this guy? I'm logging off now, I need to get some shopping done, then get back to these reports.

S.

It made sense, he thought. Religion did not make one righteous, or worthy. Scully needed to believe. That she was a doctor, that she was a practicing Catholic, did not stop her from putting a bullet in a man. Because it was the necessary thing to do. She did not need her religion to tell her it was right, or wrong, although he knew certain priests who would have said she should not have fired, but let God play it out as He saw fit. Scully never allowed her religious beliefs to cloud her moral convictions.

He glanced through the attached documents on Nicholas Page. Here, to, was an honorable man. A man who had not died, but had become...a Meta.

Now, Mulder, too, had something more to believe in. He sat and thought for a long time, wondering at the strange fate that had brought them together. He had made a pact with himself that he would not love her in a more physical sense if he could just retain her as a partner. But, now, he began to recognize that his need for her was undeniably selfish.

He had been given something by Page, and that something was a renewed faith in his own ability to go on, alone if necessary.

And yet, it pained him. How could he reconcile the conflict within him? Let her go...beg her to stay. But he knew there was only one answer, she must accept the truth or abandon the journey.

_To: D_Scully@fbi.gov 8:10 p.m. local time_

_From: F_Mulder@fbi.gov_

Thanks for the information on Page. No, he has nothing to do with the case. I met him while I was...away. Don't ask me to explain that one, Scully, until you think I'm well enough to hold a theological conversation with you.

And to answer your other question, I can only tell you that as sure as I have been of anything in my life, I am sure Bruckman was right.

Webster from SPD came in today. Scully, I can't get it through to these trilobites that he's still out there. He's not going to let this stop him. The videos will keep him going for a while, but he'll pick up a new team to begin again.

I've attached my reports for your perusal. Should we give Skinner heart failure by signing off on the same one?

M.

* * *

**DAY 20 - Thursday**

**Crystal City, Virginia**

**From the journal of Crystal Palmer**

The last few days were a blur of meetings and interviews.

I loved New York but decided I couldn't live there. Maybe I could live further north and commute each day, nah...You'd think all these years in Seattle I would have ridden a few boats, but it took a trip to New York to find out I get seasick, on a ferry no less!

He had warned me he was rarely home, so it came as no surprise I'd hardly seen Skinner since Saturday night. He came in late, usually after midnight and was gone before I got up at five am. That pattern followed every day, I knew he'd been home only because the shower had been used, the toilet seat was invariably up and a glass might appear in the sink.

He has a cleaning lady come twice weekly. I bumped into her Monday and she apologized for the unprepared state of the guest room. By the time I came back that night it had virtually been redecorated. All the boxes and archive files were neatly stacked in one half of the closet and a clock radio sat on a bedside table. The bed sheets and cover matched and cut flowers sat on the table. She'd washed and dried my clothes and even started on the ironing. I was beginning to feel spoiled. I should have told her not to bother since I'd planned to leave on Friday.

Thursday night finally came. I skipped the gym and got back to Skinner's place early, determined to leave him a good, home cooked meal as a thank you before flying out the next day. I really wanted to say goodbye personally but given the little time he spent there, figured it might not be possible. I'd decided on a large, easy to heat chicken curry, with all the trimmings diced and stirred in small containers.

I was laying out the table for my own final meal there when Skinner came in.

"Something smells good."

I turned in surprise. "Hey stranger! I was just about to eat. You hungry?"

"With that aroma, who wouldn't be?"

He went upstairs while I laid out a second setting and placed the assorted side dishes in separate bowls. By the time he returned, the chapattis were cooked and meal ready. I'd taken the liberty of buying a couple of bottles of wine to go with the curry, wondering if he would drink them alone.

He was dressed in an old pair of jeans and casual sweater and at my invitation, sat at the table. I made a brief but solemn toast to Greggs, the SPD officer and Jawolski and Myers, the agents who had died last Friday morning. He told me the agents were to be buried in Arlington the next day.

I asked if it would be inappropriate for me to attend the service. My flight wasn't due out until three.

"No, no it wouldn't be inappropriate. Where are you flying to?"

"Seattle."

"You're leaving?" He looked surprised.

"I'd only budgeted to stay a week. The interviews are finished."

"And you've made a decision?"

I finished serving and picked up a fork, not to eat, but to give my hand something to do.

"No...no it's not that easy. I suppose I should stay on a bit and spend time in the area, get a feel for what it would be like to live here. Maybe that would help me make a decision."

"Then why don't you?"

I looked up and smiled "I don't want to over stay my welcome."

He looked at me, I suppose a little exasperated, and said, "I can't say it's been a burden, I've hardly seen you, and then only long enough to be fed deadly drinks and deadlier curries."

"Too hot?" I frowned. He'd ordered hot curries in Seattle.

"No...I like them deadly. Seriously, you're welcome to stay here as long as you like. I presumed you'd take a few weeks to, as you said, look around."

I'm not one for being coy and the look on his face was genuine, so I replied, "To be honest, I suppose I'm just not feeling the enthusiasm I once thought I had for some of these offers. I think I want to go back home and rethink the entire thing." I sighed in frustration "I suppose if I go back over their prospectuses and maybe drive around and get a feel for living in the area, I might feel differently.

But I can't waver on this. I need to start earning a living and if it's not going to be in D.C., I need to look elsewhere."

"Why don't you at least stay 'til Monday. I can get away for the weekend. How about letting me show you around?"

I grinned and replied, "Please don't tell me that includes the Lincoln Memorial and the White House tour."

He laughed. "No, no I mean the parts of D.C. that long time residents know about and keep very secret from the tourists and foreign diplomats."

"Ooh, that sound more my style. Okay, I'd be crazy to pass an offer like that up, I'd love to stay on a few days."

"So the places you're looking at, they big corporations?"

"Mostly. A couple of research institutes, but my side of it is more practical applications. But...I don't know, none of them are really grabbing me."

"Do you want me to run a background check run on them?"

I blinked. "You can do that?"

His eyebrow just raised and I chuckled. "Well...I've gone into them pretty thoroughly, but if the FBI knows of any skeletons, I'd like to know just so I can scratch them off my list permanently."

The long and short of it was, I ended up agreeing to accompany Skinner back to the Hoover building after the service at Arlington. He'd get the lab boys to take me through some of the technical areas, a prospect that rather thrilled me given the sorts of things they'd talked about in Seattle, and he'd have someone check out my prospective employees.

* * *

**DAY 20 - Thursday**

_To: F_Mulder@fbi.gov 7:45 p.m. local time_

_From: D_Scully@fbi.gov_

I've finished my own report and attached a copy. I'm meeting with Skinner tomorrow afternoon with certain recommendations. Mulder, without further evidence there can be no justification in keeping this file open. All the evidence points to the four deceased murderers, nothing except the absence of film equipment indicates a fifth. I am by no means disagreeing with you, nor do I think Skinner disagrees, but you know as well as me, better than me, the necessity of closure. We have nothing to go on except your word to indicate a fifth person. That your profiles so accurately defined these four should give weight to your prediction, however it is no longer in the hands of the bureau. Mulder the case is closed. We can only hope that, as horrific as such a thought might be, videos may suffice to keep him at bay.

The director came down to the basement this morning to offer congratulations. He wants to see you when you get back. He looked...he looked like he wanted to apologize. I suppose I can best sum up my reaction to that by an old maxim my father taught me. If you can't say something nice, say, "Yes, sir."

Mulder, I am reluctant to tell you this by e-mail, but I will not risk a telephone call that you will necessarily wish to turn into a conversation. And I do not want for you to learn of it only after your return to D.C. on Monday, for I feel you need the weekend to consider it.

As the supervisory agent in charge of the X-files, you will be notified officially by Skinner that the director has offered me a new position. A newly restructured D.C.based forensics and pathology team is being seriously considered in the budget. Should it come to pass, I have been offered a supervisory role. It would elevate me to just one step below A.D., in fact in some ways on the same level with an A.D. It will mean a pay raise and more responsibility. The money, of course, is not the issue, but the position and status would give me access to a much broader scope that currently available in the X-files. As you will see by the attached proposed structuring, the Xfiles will be in a far more advantageous position with instant uncluttered access to facilities it currently has to wait in line for.

Mulder, I know you will see this as another conspiracy to break us up. But if you closely examine the proposal, you will see this opens the X-files into the main stream, giving it credibility and thus ensuring its future where once it was considered a mere indulgence. With an increasing number of unresolved cases, the X-files would be allocated the more _mainstream_ unusual as well as out and out X-files, a larger budget, a clerk/typist as well as two agents under you. They're not attempting to desk jockey you by any means, but it will give you certain freedoms to pick and chose what cases you personally handle, leaving the more mainstream ones to the agents under you.

My only regret, of course, is that we will no longer be partnered, however it will still mean you can consult me here in D.C. and I will have the discretion of giving you priority treatment. The benefits of having a forensic pathologist in the field as an active agent have not been lost on the hierarchy. Part of my job will be to supervise agents under me and let them loose with you in the field.

With any luck, I'll be able to get away occasionally and accompany you on some of your more interesting excursions.

Please Mulder, look this over carefully, and I believe you will agree it will benefit you greatly. We both know there is no such thing as maintaining the status quo in the FBI.

Better this than dissolution.

The offer is not yet conclusive, it has yet to be budgeted and the director has said he will personally listen to your opinions on the matter before a final decision is made.

S.

Mulder read her e-mail twice, then absorbed the proposal.

He pushed the laptop aside and got out of bed. The various leads and machinery had long since been removed.

The four walls crowded him as a numbing pain filled his soul. The Meta told him Scully understood and accepted him and his abilities. He needed to get out, to run it out of his system to run his mind into oblivion and let the pain sooth him in mindless pounding. The decision was no longer his. He stood and closed his eyes momentarily. Had it ever been?

He rummaged through the closet for the sweats and running shoes Scully had left him as casual hospital attire.

Scully.

She was leaving him.

Donning them, he was out the door of his room and the hospital before anyone considered stopping him.

Pound, pound, thump, thump, but this time it was his own blood in his own ears. The Meta had shown him the truth.

Not just about the consortium, about evil and good, but about himself. He had to find a way to control this ability.

The cold brought tears to his eyes and tried to freeze them in place. He rubbed his hand over his face and told himself it was only the cold. Nothing else.

Why?

It made complete sense. In fact why they hadn't thought of it before amazed him. Entice her from him with a stunninglywrapped package of logic. An expanded forensics department, assistance and expansion of the X-files division.

Everything they could ever asked for.

Except the one thing he wanted.

Scully.

He stumbled once and grabbed on to the cold metal of a street sign. His bare fingers pulled away, leaving remnants of skin. He glanced down at his hand as he ran. Pound, pound see the blood flow, see the blood run.

This was who and what he was. Patterson was right, always right. Men like Mulder didn't marry pretty women and come home to warm smells and loving embraces. He would never know a woman's love because...

Shit, what was he thinking? He knew at the outset this would destroy their partnership. Why was it every time he thought he'd escaped the frying pan and the fucking fire, he turned around to see hell itself bearing down on him?

And life without Scully by his side would be the greatest hell of all.

Pound, pound, feel the beat of the ground, the solid thump as each foot contacts the earth. Solid, complete, whole, as pure as the act of running.

Oh, God, it was so much more than he had ever imagined. He was not a man, he was a weapon. A weapon forged to fight the future. He had no right thinking he could drag her into this fray.

Run, run, pound, pound.

He snorted a short laugh. Scully was right after all, he _was_ like Ahab. His disability was not a physical loss, not a pegleg, but something metaphysical he had gained, through pain and guilt and horror.

The images of his childhood assailed him. His father knew.

All this time his father knew and could never tell him, for it was the journey itself that shaped the weapon that was Fox William Mulder. The very fact that he had never been told the entire truth should have been a clue in itself.

Scully.

She would never believe what had happened to him. And as much as his heart ached and he despaired for the loss, he knew this must be the way it was.

For him. For Lucy and God help him perhaps for Gibson.

Pound, pound, feel the numbness, comfortable numbness of grief and pain. Lucy had been too broken inside and chose the only way out. But he did not have that luxury, at least not yet. There was too much at stake.

And there was still Samantha.

That journey had never ceased.

He ran back into the hospital, to his room, stripped and showered.

It now seemed an inevitability that they should separate.

Scully deserved this, Christ she deserved every bit of it.

It really didn't matter what happened to him. He wasn't a normal man anymore. Perhaps he never had been. All that mattered was that he stop hurting her. God, he loved her and he would take pleasure in the knowledge that letting her go could be his greatest gift.

He felt a warmth seep through his heart, the same warmth that encompassed his soul when Nik let him go. It was not like Scully, never like that all too human embrace. But this warmth, this truth allowed him to smile, almost without regret, as he opened the laptop and reread her thoughts.

Perhaps she might accompany him in the field...It would never happen, of course. They would each climb separate pyramids. Hers would grow tall and strong and his, well, he no longer feared the effect mirroring had on him, except it had become clear to him now that it would be while undertaking one such journey that Clyde Bruckman's prophesy would come to pass. He had not lied to Scully, for it would not be him with the rope around his neck.

He would continue to profile. And he would mirror and attempt to hone his skills. That he would fall seemed inevitable without Scully. But she would be safe and warm.

And perhaps his small efforts in this raging war would be sufficient to hold the wolves at bay until someone stronger, perhaps Gibson Praise, took up the reigns.

He picked up the telephone to call her. His vocal cords had not been as damaged as first thought and he was now capable of holding a limited, carefully modulated conversation. But he had always found the written word a more eloquent medium to formulate his thoughts. Besides, Scully would spend half the conversation berating him for talking and this way, he could not give in to the overwhelming desire to beg.

Scully had made her decision and for once in his sorry son of a bitch life, he was going to do the right thing.

He pulled the laptop closer and began to type. Oddly enough, the warmth spread through him and a catharsis that had begun on a beach on the other side of the planet only a week before, continued its metamorphosis of Fox William Mulder.

_To: D_Scully@fbi.gov 5:30 PM local time_

_From: F_Mulder@fbi.gov_

"Your news comes as no surprise. I am both delighted and in no small part relieved.

"Since El Rico and our reassignment to the X-files, I, in my usually blinkered manner, have been unmindful of the effects upon you. This enforced hospital stay has allowed me to consider much that has happened in the past few months. Your news has consolidated my thoughts and I trust you will bear with my necessarily lengthy diatribe one last time, as I answer some of your unspoken questions.

"I have come to understand at least in part, something of which motivated my father and I thus regret his passing even more. I would like to add, and forgive him, but there is nothing to forgive.

"After his death and my discovery of his apparently willing role in Samantha's abduction, I found the burden of guilt he placed upon me incomprehensible. That engendered in me a hatred for him beyond measure. The months following Samantha's disappearance were a parody; the police investigations, the accusations, the taunts and suspicious looks by neighbors and erstwhile friends, the unspoken loathing of my mother all served to enforce in me that I alone was responsible for my sister's loss and our family's destruction.

"That my father allowed this sick farce to play out, that he allowed me to take the burden of guilt and carry it into my adult years, I now know must have been as agonizing to him as Samantha's loss. I recall times he looked at me, drowning in his scotch, his eyes rheumy from pain and alcohol. I thought he despised me. I feared those looks because they bored into my soul and said I was weak, worthless, despicable.

"I have now come to understand his bitterness was not from my failure, but from his own. Were I in his place, as much as I might hope my decisions would have been wiser, age has necessarily taught me otherwise. For on my journey I too, have made countless errors, painful mistakes that have risked your life, your health and destroyed what happiness you might have known with a whole family and children.

"What I learned from El Rico gave me more than pause, Scully. What I learned on Tuesday gave me even greater understanding. I have learned a painful and bitter truth, that my naive search for a greater truth was more destructive than my father's efforts to hide it.

"I'm not martyring myself here, Scully. As I have come to understand my father, so, too, I accept it is only the clarity of twenty-twenty hindsight that allows me to see my own errors. I cannot go on with you in this way. Our journeys joined early in our time together and became one, but they have once more parted. Melissa was right, those who did this to you and in turn murdered her, suffered a greater horror. Your journey is complete, your truths understood from your perspective, your answers given and accepted. It brings no joy to you, I know, but it brings closure. Take it, Scully, take it and get on with your life.

"I perforce, am on a different journey. I hold a different truth than yours and thus I must continue the journey alone, for in one thing it has never wavered -- to find Samantha. I know the truth now, but it is not enough. Like you, now I want answers, I want her returned. And even were that to come to pass, my truths tell me the world is in an even greater danger than I once believed. I cannot conscionably walk away from that.

"You see, my father allowed this burden upon me because he knew he could not take it upon himself. He forged me, with the bitter tools of guilt and remorse and regret. He shaped my spirit, creating a vengeful tool within me to fight a future he feared beyond all else. In a very real sense, Kritschgau was right, I am an artifact. Not a pawn as Kritschgau would have had me believe, but a weapon."

Mulder stopped writing for a moment. In the cool darkness of the early evening night, the sounds of the hospital seemed to be magnified. Food carts, footsteps and voices filled the halls outside. But it all faded into white noise and the complexity of his life took on a surprising simplicity. The way before him lay very clear.

Three years previously when they'd found the alien body in the Canadian Rockies, he had been so close to the truth, the real truth. They had employed a brilliant and complex diversionary tactic, an almost universally effective brainwashing technique.

They sent Kritschgau to cut his belief system from beneath him, to artfully destroy the entire construct by which his very existence depended -- his belief in extraterrestrials and his life quest search for his sister. Kritschgau convinced Mulder that his entire life was a fabrication of false memories and half truths, that Mulder had been created as a pawn to hide and in fact further a government sponsored agenda of heinous crimes against humanity. The perversion was compounded, Kritschgau implied, because they used Mulder's extraordinary sense of honor and justice to cover their gross crimes with a blanket fantasy of little green men.

The void created in Mulder left him floundering and guiltridden. Then they severed his final lifeline by convincing Scully, and in turn him, that she'd been given the cancer in order to make him believe the fabricated alien stories.

The destruction of Fox Mulder was so effective he'd seriously contemplated suicide.

Worse was yet to come. They finally tried to tear out his soul by having him believe his sister was not simply returned, but that she had been fathered by the one human he despised most of all, a man that might in fact be his real father.

The first stage of the brainwashing completed, they introduced a new belief system to fill the void, to create for him a new world view of things. In this incarnation they incorporated his still intact paranoia and suspicion into new truths that encapsulated a lie made ridiculously easy to swallow. They had him believing an evil but very human government experimented on civilians in order to develop hybrids immune to radiation and biological weapons.

And he'd bought it, hook line and sinker...until Ruskin Dam.

He shook his head. When that lie dissolved in the face of things learned after Ruskin, they tried a less subtle psychological destruction; the burning of his office, the removal of the X-files and his support structure -- Scully.

C.G.B. Spender should really have learned his mistake when he'd tried to buy Mulder's soul as Scully lay dying of cancer. True, Mulder bought the lie for a time, but he remained an honorable man. And after Ruskin his recovered beliefs were forged even stronger by his experience recovering Scully in Antarctica.

Yet, perversely, the whole truth, when finally given to him, left him empty-handed. CGB Spender gave him that truth in Diana's apartment and within hours, no thanks to Mulder, the alien rebels had destroyed the Consortium. Yes, he had his truth, but he did not have his quest. He did not have Samantha.

Then, the Meta changed it all again. He gave Mulder focus and a foundation upon which to work, while simultaneously rocking the very foundations of all religious beliefs. And this time he had been left with undeniable proof. That Scully would refuse to accept his truth somehow no longer mattered in the face of the greater war raging. It was no surprise that she could no longer follow him, but chose to step back into the mainstream of life.

He would not reveal to her what he had learned, what a Meta who had once been a man had taught him about the true nature of evil. Let Scully keep her philosophical crutch, her belief in a God, for he now knew it was not without foundation. While a part of him sincerely hoped that she might have opened her mind to this new reality, that the heavenly hosts were a benevolent alien force and that evil was as real as her God, he smiled regretfully and knew she was safer without such knowledge. One day, she would be called upon to fight that greater evil. What she had learned in this life would serve her well. He chuckled, yeah, she'd make a pretty impressive avenging angel.

He began typing again:

"I continue on this journey, Scully, with the albatross of guilt over Samantha now gone. But the absence of guilt does not reduce my need to find her, it simply hones my focus.

And having divested myself of that one guilt, the burden of your losses weighed yet more heavily.

"Your news gives me hope and lightens that burden. As a friend, a fellow traveler on a journey that was once mine alone, I ask of you now to leave without regret and let me continue on my way. By taking up this newly-offered journey along roads you once hoped to tread, you give me some measure of peace and happiness in the knowledge that you will continue with your life as it should have been, after a seven-year detour. I know you will take that which you have learned in your time with me and use it to good measure. Take also this new offer with my blessing and thanks and yes, my love, and know that this makes me far happier than to have you stay by my side.

M.

He sat back, spiritually tired, emotionally exhausted, yet somehow also freed, knowing she would be safe from the evil to come. He sent the e-mail, made one reservation, unplugged the cords and got up from the bed. Time now to put many things to rest.


	13. Chapter 12

**Day 20 - Thursday**

**Georgetown**

**11:31 p.m.**

Scully read the e-mail twice before blinking back the tears. Goddamned the man for doing this! She was _not_ leaving him, couldn't he see that? Had he not read the proposal before answering her e-mail? She sighed. Of course he had. And he read what she had not written.

Damn him! It was always about him! How dare he wax so poetic, so damned formal, yet lyrical, and drive her to tears this way? I'm not martyring myself, he said. Huh, not much!

She sat curled on the couch with her head in her arms, worrying over the proposal yet again. It was an opportunity of a life time and it _would_ benefit him! It wasn't as if they wouldn't be spending time together. Dammit! She had a right to her life, to what she wanted in her life! And this was the best of both worlds; the challenge and stimulation of the X-files and the opportunity to progress in the FBI hierarchy.

Then why did she feel like he had already left her behind, like he had ditched her and gone off by himself, when it was the other way around?

No dammit, it was _not_ a ditch, at least not on her behalf. It was a way of giving further credibility to his work! But she knew him, oh, God, help her she knew him. In his mind, she was gone to him. And she remembered his eyes after the morgue. His eyes said it then, that what might have been never should. He had begun to close off from her then. Oh it was subtle, so subtle, so _let's just be partners_ friendly that it made her ill.

Then on the rooftop, as she'd told him she needed him, only that had dragged him back from the abyss.

God, she could kick herself. Of course, she should have known this is how he would react! She'd made it abundantly clear she no longer felt his journey had any meaning. She had been offered something to boost her career and thank you very much, Mulder, but I've found my answers, it's been an interesting ride and goodbye but yeah, we'll keep in touch, exchange Christmas cards and all.

Fuck it! It wasn't that way at all!

Damn him!

Was this is how it would end, not with a bang, not even with a whimper, but a simple e-mail? Couldn't it equally be a beginning? Since they would no longer exactly be partners, couldn't they then be more than simple friends?

But Mulder didn't think like that. With him, it was all or nothing, you're either with me, or ag'in' me. You're either his partner and...whatever, or you are an acquaintance, a fellow worker who might be of some use to his precious damned quest!

His sister...Samantha... _nothing else matters to me_ ...it was all, all in that phrase. Here she sat seven years later and she had forgotten, somehow that those words still drove him. She had been thrust into orbit around his whirlwind journey and circumstance had thrust that same journey upon her shoulders. Circumstance had allowed her to complete her journey, to find resolution, but it left him still barren and wanting.

He had always expected that she would leave, as every other woman in his life left. First, Samantha, then his mother's emotional withdrawal, then Phoebe's betrayal and Diana's departure. And, God help him, his wife. And now, of course, it was her turn.

What's it to be, Dana? If she left, he would never follow.

If she remained in his shadow she would not be true unto herself. Is this the way Diana had felt?

Betray him, or betray yourself?

Hadn't she promised to continue on this journey with him?

No, she had regretted leaving him before it was complete.

Now that it was complete, now the consortium was dead, so was the journey.

But what about Samantha?

The wheel hath come full circle, and it has left us both barren and empty.

Tears drowning her pillow, she finally slept.

* * *

**DAY 21 - Friday**

**Crystal City, Virginia**

**From the journal of Crystal Palmer**

I was up at 5 a.m., wishing like hell I could go for a ride. Skinner's bedroom light was on and his door half open. I had to pass his room to get to the bathroom and couldn't help but notice him sitting on the end of his bed tying the laces on his runners.

The words were out of my mouth before I realized it. "You run?"

He looked up. "Not as much as I should. This is the first chance in a few weeks."

I almost bounced up and down on my heels. "Don't suppose I could join you, could I? I've wanted to since I got here, but...strange city and all."

He blinked in surprise. "Sure."

I'm not much of a runner, really, my knees can't take the pounding, but it's better than going to a gym. I'd started to regret my outburst almost before we were out the front door. Most male runners are faster than women. My ex hated me slowing him down. But maybe Skinner was more of a jogger.

No such luck, but he admitted to being out of condition and it seemed to slow him enough for me to keep pace. After about a mile I realized the bulge under his sweatsuit was probably a gun.

"D'you always carry that?"

He saw the direction of my eyes and nodded. "And I.D., never hurts."

I thought about that for a mile or two then added, "Because it's D.C., or because you're a paranoid cop?"

He grinned and replied, "Both."

That kept me quiet for another couple of miles then I asked, "Ever needed it on a run?"

"Twice. Both times on someone assailing somebody else.

Does it bother you?"

"What are the statistics of gun owners in D.C.? Highest in the country, isn't it?"

He nodded and I could tell he was tiring.

"No," I added. "I'm just an idealist. I'd like to live in a world where only law enforcement officers and the military were allowed to own and carry them."

He looked at me oddly and slowed slightly, then said in a carefully neutral voice, "And yet you showed no hesitation in using one when it was necessary."

I pulled up suddenly. Oh, shit. Of course he would have known. He ran a few paces before realizing I'd stopped. I guess we'd done about eight miles and my knees were feeling it. As I said, I'm not much of a runner, the impact gets to me where cycling doesn't. He walked back to me, but said nothing, waiting for my reaction.

"How much do you know?"

"That you were given a commendation for bravery for saving a police officer."

"You know I killed him?"

"The assailant? Yeah."

By mutual consent we started walking back to his apartment. It was only a block or so away.

"How do you feel about that?" He asked me.

"Killing him? Honestly? I was horrified at the damage one bullet, one soft little squeeze of a trigger could do. I'm sure the average person just does not think about that tiny little piece of metal shredding its way through flesh and organs and bone and causing such incalculable havoc on a human being. I know all I wanted to do was stop him and I knew there was no other way. Even if I could have pulled myself out from my bike and tackled him, it wouldn't have been soon enough. So although I was horrified, although I felt bad he died, I never felt guilty, never lost any sleep over it. I was just...sad that it had happened and unbelievably grateful Johns lived.

"I upchucked in the gutter afterwards, and got a bad case of the shakes, but only for a few minutes. But I can't honestly say how much of that was just an overall reaction.

I mean I thought about it again after the FBI took over the hotel and I saw the photos. I was so sick the first time I refused to clean the rooms. But that...that was different, that was...evil, beyond comprehension. Casey was a dog gone mad, although I felt guilty for a while for not feeling guilty. Can you understand that?"

He looked at me and nodded. "You know he was on his way to kill his ex-girlfriend and her boyfriend?"

"Yeah, I found out later. I suppose, thinking back, I was upset for a while. But it was mostly because I felt I had no right to decide he should die. And anyone who pulls a trigger should always have that in the back of their mind, that they may be killing someone and they had better make damned certain there really is no alternative."

"Would you do the same thing again?"

I wasn't sure how he wanted me to answer, but I could only be honest. "Without batting an eyelid. I'd never given guns much thought, never wanted to own one or fire one, but in that moment, I knew there was no alternative. I made the right decision and I do not regret that. I only regret the circumstances that brought him to that point and that he died as a result. Look, no one wants a police state, but our justice system works to give offenders a second chance.

I've often thought it would be fairer to give an innocent potential victim a first chance and there are at least three people alive today because Casey is dead."

I knew I was rambling and probably sounded overly defensive.

We'd reached his apartment building and he turned to face me and said, "Crystal, I'm not suggesting you should feel anything different. Killing someone, no matter how justifiable the reason, will always have an effect on you.

Hopefully, you can accept it like you have. How did you end up with the gun?"

"Fluke, pure and simple. You know his car hit me while I was riding, don't you?"

"Mm, and you were knocked into the gutter, directly behind an unmarked detective's car."

"Traffic was heavy, so Casey couldn't drive out of there, even if he'd wanted to. Detective Johns got out of his vehicle and leaned over me and asked if I was okay. Next thing I knew, Casey had tackled him and was hitting him over the head with this flashlight. Johns said later he saw movement out of the corner of his eye and started pulling his gun. It was so fast I couldn't tell, but it makes sense because all I can remember is this painful whack in my face, seeing stars, then the gun in my lap and I'm screaming at Casey to stop or I'll shoot him.

"I expected someone to tackle Casey, you know? But everyone just froze. And that's what I mean about no choice. I was angry that no one was trying to help Johns.

Until then I would have said that no one who calls themselves human could sit by and watch a man beaten to death."

"Happens every day in this city," he replied as we stepped into the elevator.

"Well, that may be, but its wrong. I'm no police groupie, I avoid trouble like the plague, but in a situation like that, well, I'm not going to apologize to anyone for doing what was morally right."

I paused as the lift doors opened. It had never crossed my mind to consider it. Just because he was FBI didn't mean he'd ever used his gun, let alone shot anyone. But I already knew the answer because...because of his eyes, the way he carried himself. I asked anyway, "Have you ever killed anyone?"

He nodded as he opened his apartment door. "First time when I was 18. A 10-year-old Vietnamese boy, boobytrapped."

"Oh, Jesus..."

I felt my stomach lurch, not in horror but in sympathy at such a moral dilemma. I put my hand on his arm and he smiled at me without humor.

"And no," he added, "it doesn't get any easier with time.

But you either learn to deal with it, to believe you can make a difference, even if only a slight one, or you become indifferent and stand by and do nothing while people, civilians as well as detectives, are beaten to death."

I had the feeling he was telling me something more than just that. But let it slide.

I showered first, while Skinner made eggs for breakfast.

He was just getting off the phone when I came downstairs.

"All right, Scully, call me back if you hear anything more.

I'll be leaving in an hour."

As we ate I asked how Mulder was. His nose twitched in annoyance. "He checked himself out last night, then checked out of the hotel. I'm betting he's on a flight."

"Can he talk yet?"

Hid lips curled. "Not much, which just might keep him out of trouble."

Skinner showered while I changed. The phone rang and the machine didn't get it, I suppose he'd forgotten to put it back on after talking to Scully. I let it go for a moment, thinking Skinner might hear it, but he didn't so I went to his room and answered the cordless extension sitting on his bedside table.

"Hello?"

"Oh...I'm sorry, is this Walter Skinner's residence?"

"Yes, just a minute,"

I went back in to the hallway and knocked on the bathroom door. "Phone!"

The shower turned off and he called, "Who is it?"

"It sounds like Agent Scully, hang on." I asked who was calling and she confirmed it. But she didn't sound too happy to tell me, in fact I don't think she would have, except I'd already guessed.

"He won't be long..."

The bathroom door opened and Skinner took the phone from me with a mouthed thanks. I turned to go back into my room to give him some privacy, but not before noticing how he looked in a skimpy white towel and nothing else.

Oh...the temptation to ogle was almost overwhelming.

Well, what did you expect? I'm only human.

* * *

**Arlington National Cemetery**

**Arlington, Virginia**

**From the Journal of Crystal Palmer**

Thank God for waterproof mascara. I didn't gush buckets, but I couldn't help tears. I'd hardly known these men, but felt their loss in the stone faced-solemnity of their colleagues, at the loss of a comrade in arms. Their wives stood proud and tall and I wondered if I could have been so dignified in the face of such loss. To be honest, I've never liked funerals because they seem artificial. A minister or priest or rabbi saying artificial words of supposed comfort over a person he'd never known. But as I stood there that bleak morning, in a cemetery that honored the bravery of its dead, I felt an overwhelming respect for not only these two men, but all who rested by their side.

These men knew they might one day be called to give up their lives to protect others.

To protect us.

I wished that I might have such courage, such strength of spirit and I was, once more, humbled.

Scully stood very close to Mulder during the service. As I said before, they were like two parts of a whole. Now, their contact seemed like a form of solidarity. There but for the grace of God lay Mulder, I thought. I could see it in the eyes of those who surrounded us. They thought the same. For all many of them might belittle him and his beliefs, I saw also a respect bordering on awe.

He'd arrived just as the service began. Scully hadn't seen him at first, but I noticed him walk up behind her. She turned to see who it was and the look of sheer relief on her face was almost palpable. He'd lost his strange tan and his face was marked and bruised in places, but the bandage at his throat was flesh colored. From ten feet away he looked almost normal. Although their coats only brushed, it seemed they were one.

Scully wasn't surprised to see me. After the morning's phone call, she must have put two and two together.

Although I could tell by the quizzical look, she wondered if the numbers were meant to add up higher. Mulder just grinned at me, looked me over and rocked his head to one side in a gesture of delighted approval. He had definitely added up the numbers. I stayed poker-faced, but was secretly pleased, even if he had guessed wrong. The man could send whole paragraphs of conversation with his body language and eyes. He didn't need vocal cords.

I had felt strangely out of place until then, not unwelcome but undeserving of being there. A few moments later, the light drizzle turned to rain. Skinner put his arm about me, gently pulling me close to share his umbrella as the rain set in.

At the end of the service, I glanced at Scully. She seemed to be looking up at Mulder as if she had lost something and was trying to find it in his face. Afterwards, he left without her. I don't know, but something about their bearing sent a shiver down my spine. I had a bad feeling about it.

Skinner left me for a few minutes to talk to the wives.

Scully came up and spoke to me. We talked for a bit, but it was superficial. She looked distracted, upset, yet it didn't seem to stem from the service. I asked her if everything was okay and she said she was fine and turned on an artificial smile. I really was at a loss because Mulder looked, well, happy was not the right word because it was a funeral. But he seemed to have been freed of a burden. I suppose it was the case being closed. So why was Scully so concerned?

A driver chauffeured Skinner and I to the Hoover building.

The flag was flying at half mast. I didn't say anything.

Skinner saw me frown and look down at my hands. It was not melancholy that I felt, but solemnity. We are so hardened in our society, so indifferent, so cynical, especially in this singularly cynical city of politicians and bureaucrats.

I don't think I could have explained that to anyone, but I also felt guilt, for having disliked, even hated these men and women when they first came to our home. Now I felt wanting in the face of such honor.

In strange contrast, perhaps in part because of the funeral, the hours that followed were more than uplifting, they were exhilarating. For the first time since coming to D.C., I felt alive. These men and women were really achieving something. For all most of it was technical dog work, they were really making a difference. I lusted after their equipment, longing for the sort of lengthy jam sessions we used to have in our offices at university. This was so far removed from the dry corporate worlds I'd been mindlessly wandering through this past week, it touched something in me. I did not know what, exactly, but I suddenly knew that I could never work in any of the places I had prospectuses for.

Skinner told me to call him at lunch, after leaving me with a technician named Sam Peaton, but to be honest, I'd forgotten. He eventually tracked me down in one of the photo labs at about 5:30. I was starving and exuberant and practically fell over myself telling him what I had seen and what could be done to improve certain things. He ended up practically dragging me out of there by the elbow. About a mile of halls and elevators later, I was in his office and he was telling Kimberly, his assistant, that she could go home for the night. Scully was there with him and that's when he dropped the bomb shell.

* * *

**DAY 21 - Friday**

**Washington, D.C.**

**From the journal of Crystal Palmer**

When he said he wanted to take me out for dinner I warned him it had to be casual because I had no evening clothes.

He smiled and replied it was just around the corner at a pub and we could go there straight from his office. I relaxed a bit because for all we had developed a closeness, I felt nervous about the direction things were going. In fact, I was now at a loss to know what direction that was.

"Is this standard FBI recruiting protocol?" I asked after my first sip of wine.

He had the grace to chuckle. "No." He wanted to say more but he looked me up and down, evaluating me, but in a nice way, a way I would have said was part seduction except that he managed to look chagrined at the same time.

"When did you decide to make this offer?"

He looked thoughtful, then sipped his drink and replied, "I think I'd subconsciously been considering it since last Thursday, but it took me until yesterday to wade through the paperwork. Among it were three recommendations that you be recruited as an FBI candidate."

"So, why didn't you say something last night?"

"I wanted to let you see where you'd be working, meet the people you'd be working with."

"How long before I have to make a decision?"

"It's an open offer, but if you do decide quickly, we can get the preliminary interviews and medicals over and done with by the end of next week. The background checks have already thoroughly been covered. A little paper-shuffling, but there's a new class due to start at Quantico three weeks after that I can get you in. You should stay in D.C., meanwhile, because there will likely be routine follow ups."

"Mm, three weeks in D.C. Kind of expensive."

"Crystal, you can stay as my guest as long as you like, you know that."

"Do you think that's a very good idea, under the circumstances?"

He played dumb. "What circumstances?"

I pulled my lips in and frowned. Had I imagined things?

Was Skinner so far into the FBI that this seduction was purely professional? I felt a little adrift, so stabbed another oyster and swallowed before answering. "I mean you are an A.D. Isn't there some sort of protocol?"

He tossed his head back and grinned broadly, then looked at me with amazingly bright eyes. "The FBI is a political bureaucracy. A good many have secured their position in the agency at least in part due to...sponsorship." He shook his head. "You're not the sort of person to use an...association to your advantage. And even if you were, in the initial stages, no one has any sway over an entire board of doctors and psychologists who'll screen you. As an agent, you would never be placed under my command because your expertise lies in a completely different area. When you undergo training at Quantico, you will pass or fail on your merits alone. And if you fail, you should not be ashamed, because the process is designed to filter only those who can meet its unique demands. Not meeting those demands does not make you a lesser person. Not everyone is suited for the FBI. Not everyone should be."

He stopped for moment then added, "But you won't fail. You have all the qualities of an excellent agent. You have integrity and honesty, you've been offered money, good money to betray unspoken confidences. You could have taken that money in all good conscience for you signed nothing to prevent you from doing so. You've shown an ability to work independently and yet you work well on a team in less than ideal conditions."

"I threw up when I first saw those photos in Seattle." I grimaced.

"So you should have. But you adjusted. You are sensible enough to avoid violence, but when confronted with it, you display courage and cool thinking. You didn't tell me your ankle was broken by Casey when he sideswiped your bike."

I frowned at him. "Why did you ask about it when you knew?"

"I wanted to feel your reaction, especially to killing a man."

I looked away again. A cop, a typical cop.

"Crystal, I'm sorry if you think I deceived you, I didn't.

It's just that..." He looked uncomfortable. "I...The FBI is not for everyone. You need to rapidly adjust to...circumstances.

You might go twenty years and never have to pull a gun. But if you're ever put in that situation again, I needed to know you wouldn't hesitate. Sure, the psych screening will pick that up, but _I_ needed to know before recommending you.

"You warned Casey three times before pulling that trigger.

And if you'd hesitated any longer, Johns would be dead. I also know that despite the pain, you hobbled to his car and called officer down, then sat with him and staunched the blood flow and talked with him until the paramedics arrived. I've seen trained agents lose it and have to retire after killing a man. Yet while you fully comprehend and regret the consequences of shooting a man, you would do so again if the situation called for it."

And as I sat there, I realized that yes, this is what I wanted. This felt right. But it didn't answer a second question. Could I have both?

* * *

Scully parked her car just outside his apartment building.

She counted her blessings that she hadn't had to walk half a mile in the drizzling, half-formed snow. Her heart thudded in keeping with her short, sharp footsteps. The only good thing about the conversation she was about to have was that it would be completely one-sided. Finally, a chance to tell Mulder exactly what she thought without him somehow arguing...oh, shit. She pulled up short outside of his elevator. Who was she kidding? What exactly did she want, anyway? For him to beg and grovel and ask her not to leave?

Was that it?

No, damn him! She wanted him to accept a future where they could work together, albeit not as closely...Oh, what was the point? He wouldn't listen, he never listened to her... She sighed deeply. No, that was just plain wrong. The truth was, he always listened. He fed her reasoning into that great dumb genius brain of his and processed it into the most improbable reasoning. But he had always respected her and her opinions. He always listened even if he did not agree. As she had always listened to him...Well, no she hadn't. Sometimes she outright refused.

Oh, hell, what was the point trying to talk to him when he couldn't respond?

Scully decided to leave, but his apartment door opened and he came out with a bag of trash in hand. He looked up and the genuine delight on his face at seeing her tore down her wallsentirely. She had rarely seen that totally carefree smile. It made his face look so damned funny. His nose sort of flattened out and his cheeks edged up to his eyes and oh...her own face couldn't help smiling in return.

"Hey, FBI woman."

"Mulder!" her face dropped. "You shouldn't be talking!"

He took her by the arm and kissed her cheek in welcome, then motioned her to wait in his apartment while he took out the trash. Scully stared at the elevator doors, dumbfounded.

He _never_ kissed her unless she was half-dead in a hospital bed. Could she have been mistaken? Was this new affection a sign that they could pick up exactly where they'd left off three weeks before?

Her brows knitted in confusion, she walked slowly into his apartment, pulled off her coat and made herself comfortable on the couch.

Mulder reappeared in minutes. He rubbed his hands together as he entered the apartment, trying to ward off the chill from outside.

"Want some coffee?" He asked in a soft voice.

"Mulder, why are you talking?"

"Scully, I'm fine. Not as much damage as they first thought. I can't shout or sing, but apart from that, I'm fine."

Scully stood, wanting to get a closer look at the dressing on his throat. "Have you changed that since you checked yourself out last night?" Her accusation was on many levels.

He shrugged, but kept grinning at her.

God, what had gotten in to him? "I thought as much. Okay Mulder, come here, I want to have a look."

"Wait till I put the coffee on."

In his typically manic style, he bounded into the kitchen, started the brew, then dutifully placed himself on the couch while Scully raided her medical kit kept in her spare travel bag in his hall closet.

Scully gently eased the dressing from his throat. The second cut had been relatively long, the leading and tapering edges however were quite shallow. They had healed to bright pink skin. She was delighted to see the initial stab had completely sealed, the stitches having already been removed. But she could see why he'd kept the skin colored dressing in place. The livid purple color of the scar stood out like a beacon. It would take some weeks to fade and it was likely the scar would be permanent. Then she was suddenly reminded that he said he no longer scarred.

"Mulder, what happened to you when you disappeared?"

It was not what she had come by to discuss, but that seemed to be the best place to start.

He held his hand up for her to wait, then disappeared into the kitchen to make the coffee. When he returned, he sat down next to her on the couch, turned slightly to face her.

He placed the mugs on his coffee table and picked up one of her hands in his. His untroubled face continued to bother her. As much as she should have been grateful he seemed happy, it just didn't fit. Could he really, genuinely want her to accept the director's offer?

She closed her eyes again, distracted by the feel of his thumb stroking her hand. Why in hell couldn't she be happy if he was? What was wrong with her?

"Scully," he began in a soft voice, "I asked if I could prove to you the existence of God, would you let me? You said you could not follow me on that journey. Then when you told me about the offer, it became clear to me that you were right. You have your own journeys to make, your own beliefs and I have no right to challenge your convictions.

I once thought if I could prove to you the existence of estraterrestrials, I would be able to convince the world.

But I have come to believe that there are in fact some truths best left alone. What I learned, what was shown to me on that Tuesday, was that truth."

He reached across and tucked a wayward lock of hair behind her ear. She leaned into his hand a little, but then an awful feeling hit her again. As it had since this case began, his gestures were tender, but lacked any hidden passion. So often in the past his fleeting touches were hot fire wrapped in gentleness, harnessed only by professional constraints. But this time, she felt a coldness creep up her spine. He had shut her out.

She sucked her breath in. She did not have the courage to face this and desperately scrambled to pull all her professional walls around her.

Betray him, or betray herself? His gesture said it all. He was giving her freedom. She would not betray him, she could be true to herself and it was okay, really okay, Then why did she feel like her heart and soul had been ripped out?

Why, goddamn it, what had happened to him? Was this still part of his fear for her witnessing his mirroring? If she could just understand what he had seen that Tuesday, she might be able to sort one from the other.

"Then Mulder, tell me that truth, tell me what you found?

I'm not saying I can or will accept it, but at least give me some understanding of why you are pulling away like this!"

His head turned to one side in mild confusion. "I'm not pulling away from you, Scully."

"Yes you are, goddamn it! The director gives you, us, an opportunity to change the direction of the X-files and your answer implies I'm leaving you and by the way, have a nice life!"

He frowned. He knew he could be singularly dense sometimes, especially trying to decipher Scully language.

He was absolutely sure that when it came to interpreting meanings, she used a completely different thesaurus than him.

"Scully, you ask me what I saw and in order to explain it to you, I asked you about proving God's existence. You tell me you don't want to hear that...so where does that leave me? I can't tell you what happened unless you let me prove that which you do not want proved."

"Mulder, are you trying to tell me you had some sort of...of religious experience on Tuesday?"

He chuckled, released her hand and reached for his coffee cup. "Or would you prefer the abduction by aliens take on it?"

To give herself time to think, Scully reached for her coffee and sipped.

"Okay, Mulder, I'm listening. What happened?"

He stood, pulled off his sweater and T shirt, then unbuttoned his jeans.

"Mulder..?" Scully's eyes widened in surprise.

He grinned disarmingly as he pulled his pants down, "Don't worry Scully, I'm not coming on to you, I just want to show you something. Besides, it's not like you haven't seen it all before, right?"

Her instinct was to turn away, but as he bent over, her eyes glanced across his shoulder.

It wasn't there.

It had to be, it must have faded, that's all.

Then her eyes cornered the area. There had been some scarring from the Jersey Devil and mothmen attack. Thin dark lines and puckering that had never quite faded.

They were gone.

Her brows now knitted in disbelief, she looked down at his left thigh, to the distinctive thick scarring of the bullet wound.

Gone.

Scully deposited her coffee cup on the table and leaned forward, oblivious now of her proximity to Mulder's groin.

She reached her physician's hands to his thigh and moved the muscle back and forth. There was absolutely no sign of the slight thickening of muscle around where the scar should have been. She stood, baffled, scouring every inch of his body, searching for a dozen small scars she knew he had.

Nothing.

The entry and much larger exit hole in his shoulder, where she herself had shot him.

Gone.

She kept poking and prodding at him, turning his body this way and that, determined to find a cause. Then it dawned on her and she gasped in horror, pulled away, withdrew her weapon and aimed it at him. It all made sense now. It all fell into place.

"Who the fuck are you and where is Mulder?"

Mulder grinned. "I wondered when you'd come to that conclusion, but this time, Scully, you're wrong."

Scully's eyes narrowed "Bullshit. It's the one explanation that *does* make sense."

Mulder cocked his head to one side. "Oh, sure, if you believed like me, it would all make sense. But you _don't_ believe in shape-shifting aliens or clones, do you Scully?

Any time you see one you consign it to a blow to the head, or some other _scientific_ explanation!"

Scully's eyebrows furrowed at the edge of bitterness in his voice. But it disappeared as he continued.

"C'mon, Scully, use that patented logic of yours. If I was replaced on Tuesday, how come I ended up in the hospital Friday with my head half off? I bled _red_ blood and I would have _died_ if I hadn't been ventilated in time.

"Then...then it happened in hospital, or on the way here..." But her frown deepened.

"Okay, let's say you're right... If I am a clone, or an alien, I must have been right about everything, all along...here, look," he snatched the pocket knife from his computer table and flicked it open. Scully repositioned herself in case he lunged at her, but before she could stop him he sliced a shallow cut across the back of his hand.

Her eyes widened but he lifted the blade to his torso and made a further knick just under his ribs. Red blood welled up and a single drop fell.

"You pick a place at random, Scully, anywhere on my body to prove it's no elaborate trick. Don't worry, I won't scar." He grinned.

Her face screwed up in confusion and she reluctantly lowered her weapon. But her eyes continued to travel his body, searching for a clue.

"Can I get dressed now Scully? It's kind of cold in here...or do you just want to keep leering at me?"

She pulled her lips to one side, replaced her weapon, then picked up the mug and drank the contents, a thoughtful look on her face.

"Mulder, what happened to you?"

"I'm not an alien, or a clone, but it still begs the question.

When convention and science offer us no answers, might we not finally turn to the fantastic as a plausibility?"

She glared at him with her patented look but refused to be baited.

"Scully, unless you can give me a scientific explanation, or concede that you cannot, I can't...I won't answer you.

I'm not going to allow you to make that journey unless you are really prepared to concede to other...possibilities."

So he'd finally called her on it. A part of her knew that he would one day. She'd seen far too much to not admit science did not have all the answers. And hadn't her inability to admit to the fantastic caused him such pain after the mirroring in the morgue? Hadn't she castigated herself then for refusing to admit the possibility? Could she not, just once, concede the point? What was she so frightened of. The truth?

"Okay, Mulder, I concede I have no explanation for the absence of scar tissue on your body."

"Nuh uh." Mulder shook his head. "Not good enough, Scully."

"You're really going to force this, aren't you?"

He had accepted that she must be left behind but oh, God, he hoped, like a man holding a lottery ticket, that he might yet have it all. Yet it must be for the right reasons. It must be real and honest and if it meant pushing her away to keep her safe in her world, so be it. "I want you to be truthful to yourself, Scully because if you can't be that, you are not ready for this journey and I can't take you along."

"So, give in to your point of view or get ditched, is that it, Mulder? Whatever happened to that trite little speech you gave me, not fifty feet away, about me saving you, making you a whole person with my rationalism?"

"Scully, in this case you have proof and denying it is irrational. I'm asking for the same rationalism again. _I_ am the proof, the hard core proof that science cannot give you all our answers. Unless you can concede that, you need to stick to your own safe world."

He downed the last of his coffee, collected her cup and took them back into the kitchen. He berated himself for trying. He was pushing her beyond her limits when there really was no point. She would be leaving him soon, it was for the best. But could he have one thing, please, just one thing, that they depart as friends, not antagonists? In the long term, she would come to know the truth. One day, she would disappear just as Nicholas Page had and then she would know. Whether he lived to see that day, the day she disappeared for good, he didn't know.

Oh, hell, it didn't matter. Really. He hurt like shit but he would not succumb to a lie. He needed to put some distance between them now.

"Scully, it's getting late, maybe you should go home."

She stood rooted to the spot. He had never, ever asked her to leave. Betray him or betray herself. That's what it came down to. But what was it about herself that was she betraying? Those damned scars had _gone_! She had no rational explanation for that! Couldn't she concede that point! Her face started to crumble, not in tears, she could not let herself concede that, but in loss, confusion.

"Hey, Scully." He came back out of the kitchen, more than a little surprised to see her lost, confused look. He pulled her to him and held her. "Scully, you don't...hm," He sighed.

"You don't have to go, I didn't mean it like that."

He lifted her chin and peered into her eyes, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "I just thought that, I think that you are better off living with your own belief systems intact. God knows I've had mine strung up and spat out enough times to wonder what the hell the truth really was."

"And you think that hasn't happened to me, Mulder? You think you're the only one who CGB Spender played his little mind games on?"

"No, no, I don't. You've lost a great deal more than me in this damned quest. He's tried everything possible to drive you from me and yet you stayed. Beyond all logic and reasoning, you stayed with me. You're finally applying that logic to leave, and I respect that. But in this instance, in this one thing, I'm not asking you to abandon logic. I'm asking you to apply it. What logic explains the absence of these scars? You agree there is none. But you are a scientist, you must concede that an answer exists. I'm telling you I have the answer but you can't hear it if you have no ears to listen. Only when you accept that possibility that another explanation, outside of science, exists, can I give you your answer."

"Mulder, all I have outside my science is my faith in a higher order."

"Then there's your answer."

She pulled back from him and looked at him and the calmness of his face. Had he really had some sort of religious experience? Could she accept that? "Are you trying to tell me that...God did this to you?"

He dropped his hands to his side and smiled at her so gently, in that moment she could believe it.

"God is an idea, a totality. You were right, all of us, everything in the universe is the sum total of God. But I can also tell you there are beings...forces that exist on a higher plane. There are also...lesser minions of this force, that fight raw evil. I guess you might call them...angels, but they call themselves Metas."

She blinked at him and sat down on the corner of the couch. Could she deal with this? Could she accept a proof of spirituality?

"Mulder, I still can't promise I'll accept what you tell me but...I admit I have...I have to admit that...that my science cannot explain what happened to you. My faith, perhaps, is the only thing that might."

His smile lit his face again. "Then sit back, Scully, because I'm going to tell you a story that will knock your socks off."


	14. Chapter 13

**DAY 21 - Friday**

**Crystal City**

**From the journal of Crystal Palmer**

We were back at his apartment before ten. I'd had enough to drink to lose any hesitancy I might feel, but I was certainly not drunk. It was dark inside. Only the residual illumination of the city lights peeked in through the balcony doors. Skinner closed and dead-bolted the front door, then helped me off with my coat. He turned and hung his own overcoat on the rack, but I didn't move. Instead, I reached my palm to his chest, just where his jacket parted.

He was firm and warm beneath my hand.

"I...I'm a little lost here."

He didn't move away. In fact, by turning to face me he seemed to move closer. The darkness emphasized the smell of cologne and maleness, a scent that had become arousing by its recent familiarity. But I really was lost. Was I mistaken in his attraction to me? Was this...association, could I go so far as to say friendship, based on attributes he saw in me as a potential agent, or potential lover -- or both?

I wore low heels and he stood about two inches taller than me. He slowly reached his right arm behind me, but did not pull me closer as he leaned across to kiss me. It was soft, at first, enough to tell me its intent was not chaste, but allowing me plenty of room to draw away.

Oh, my...one kiss should not be sufficient to arouse me like that. His tongue hesitated at the edge of my lips, and I slowly slid my palm around his chest to his back, pulling myself closer to him. He moaned softly and I knew he was just as moved as me, but for all his power, perhaps because of his size and strength, he was being very, very careful. But I didn't want careful and controlled, I wanted to feel his strength.

He broke off the kiss and pulled away slowly. Jesus, trust me to find an honorable man when all I wanted was to throw him on the floor and...but I considered the circumstances.

I was his house guest, a guest of an FBI assistant director and someone he had recommended be taken into the fold.

Whatever happened between us must be with my unequivocal agreement.

I put my other hand to his face and leaned up to touch his lips with mine again. This time he didn't hesitate and his tongue reached in confidently, exploring me, sending warmth through my belly. As the kiss intensified his arms encompassed me and his grip became more possessive. I tried to pull him closer, to feel him against me, but he broke away, burying his face in my neck, trying to control his breathing.

His reluctance bothered me, it was as if he feared letting me feel his arousal. What, did he think I'd want to take things slower? That I was some teenager on a first date? We both knew this was coming last Saturday night. I was not going to make him second guess this. He had to know now that I wanted him.

"Skinner..." I whispered as his cheek slid across mine and his tongue stroked my earlobe. "I'm not a game player, I don't do things in half measure." Then I very deliberately reached in front of me until my palm rested on his thigh, and carefully brought it up to cup his groin.

Oh, boy...all my birthdays come at once. They say that big men are less well endowed than smaller ones. Maybe. But that package waiting for me included something long and thick and very hard. I moaned, it felt sooo nice. Honestly, just the feel of him was so damned good, I was creaming. He groaned and all but attacked my neck. There would be a hickey there in the morning, absolutely no doubt of that.

"Crystal..." It came out ragged but I stroked and cupped him in reply, unable to take my hands off that nice hard, soft bundle. Mine, all mine...

He took my face in his hands and very carefully pulled me away to look at me. I remember thinking the first time I saw his eyes I could have drowned in them.

I wasn't wrong.

He took me by the hand and pulled me towards the stairs.

Oh, you have no idea how good that felt. If he'd just thrown me down on the floor, or maybe the couch, I wouldn't have objected, but this was a very possessive move to take me to his bed.

His bed.

That required time to get up the stairs, giving me a chance to consider what was happening. Did I ever mention that anticipation is almost as good as the event itself?

Well, maybe not that good, but very titillating. Okay, okay, so it was only a set of stairs to negotiate, but it was the determined way in which he did it.

He reached across and knocked the phone off the hook, giving me a chance to divest myself of my shoes. He had his tie and coat jacket off by the bottom step and I'd also lost my jacket. About three steps up he had me pinned against the wall and finally, at long last, let me pull him against me. Oh God I almost came as he very slowly, very deliberately thrust his hips into mine once, twice and then again. I'm not sure what was more erotic, that or the tongue in my left ear.

By the time we got moving again, I was soaked and both my panty hose and panties had been discarded. I heard a double clunk as his shoes fell down the stairs. How had he managed to use his tongue and hips while easing his shoes and my panties off? Ah, the famous executive level multitasking skills coming into play. Mm, I wondered what other multi tasks he was good at. About five steps later I found out.

This time it was me pushing him into the wall. His tongue was very carefully exploring the continuous erogenous zone along my chin. Mind you, every square inch of my body had become an erogenous zone, so location was not a factor. Lo and behold, I found he'd divested me of my skirt and his socks. How does he do it?

Just as we reach the turn, his trousers dropped and draped down a couple of steps. Proudly displaying my own temporarily lost undressing ability, I had single handedly undone my shirt buttons and managed to get the thing off.

Now I know that sounds like a pretty basic maneuver, but at the time I felt proud of achieving something other than mindless groping.

By the time we reached the top of the stairs, there was not much left except his underwear, and that found its way to the floor before we'd reached his bedroom. The biggest problem I could see was that we were both so over the top, this was bound to be over with all too soon.

I wasn't wrong.

I know he had all good intentions of making it last, but I wrapped my legs around him when we fell onto the bed, pulled him on top of me and thrust myself downward, impaling myself in the process. Common sense took over for about fifteen seconds while he held me absolutely rigidly. Squirm as I might, he was so powerful I could hardly move.

"Crystal...sh,"

"Wha..?"

But some higher function in my brain took over and told me he was fumbling in the bedside drawer. What in hell...?

Oh, oh, yeah.

Jesus I hate condoms! I wondered how fast we could get blood tests. I knew I was okay because I'm a blood donor.

And I figured he was too, given his position. And I was on the pill, but I wasn't about to turn this into a discussion, I was far too gone for that.

Give him his due, he had it on in no time flat. Before he could settle back down on me I'd arched back up again and reimpaled myself.

I'm sure I lasted at least four strokes, but maybe it was less, I really wasn't counting. But that was it, I was gone and naturally enough, my legs wrapped around his back and groaning his and God's name all at once, Skinner lost it as well.

"Jesus...Jesus, you are so beautiful," he managed to croak out between thrusts and groans.

We gently pulled away from one another and I looked into his face. There was enough light coming from the street to see the grin quivering on his lips. I couldn't help it, the sight of it sent me off and I burst out laughing. He lost it as well and hung his head on my shoulder as his body quivered with laughter. I mean, it was funny. Here we are, two mature people and we can't get it on longer than a couple of 16-year-olds!

We both tried to apologize at once and of course that set us off laughing again. And then a more thoughtful part of my mind finally clicked in and I realized I had never seen him this relaxed. Okay, under the circumstances that may sound a little odd, of course he'd be relaxed. But this man carried around with him an extraordinary presence of power and strength and dignity. Mulder, for instance, had bedroom eyes and a soulful face. You could easily imagine him making love. But Skinner was entirely different. I knew I'd never really be able to look at him completely straightfaced again. Something in those rich brown eyes would always remind me of this moment. I suppose it just surprised, and delighted me, that he could relax enough to think sex could be funny.

He kissed me then, long and full and deep and I could feel my arousal growing. I slowly bucked against him, sliding up and down slightly, trying to get the right angle. He was still hard enough to stay inside me and he knew exactly what I was doing. He pulled back a little and cupped one of my breasts in his hand, then licked and suckled the nipple.

I wrapped my legs around his thighs to hold him still, telling him with my body that I needed control of this. His mouth moved to the other breast and I continued in a sliding motion, rubbing his pelvis across my clitoris until the second orgasm started to hit me. He pulled away from my breast and thrust his tongue in my mouth, mimicking the thrust of his sex into mine and I exploded more powerfully than the first time.

We slept then, for a time. I'm not sure who woke first but by mutual consent we headed for the bathroom. I cannot tell you how big I am on oral sex. I mean giving as well as receiving. I adore it, but I suppose like most people I like it clean. I cannot stand a man going down on me unless I've just stepped out of a shower. Although in this case, while still in the shower was even better.

Oddly enough, I've never made love in the shower before, either. It always sounds like a good idea, but the practical difficulties generally outweigh the desire.

Anytime I'd started, we'd given up and headed to the bedroom. But Skinner is so damned strong he can hold me above himself and lower me on to him while maintaining a good rhythm. I did wonder what would happen when he came, but practicalities took over again. Damn those condoms! In the end, though, he didn't climax, but held me gently until I came down from mine.

Now, it was my turn for self-indulgence. I started to remove the condom and he stopped me and looked at me, his eyes questioning. I smiled and decided to tell him what I had in mind. From my experience, most men are pretty turned on when you give them a graphic description of what you are about to do to them. Skinner was no exception.

"I am going wrap my tongue around _you_ and to suck _you_ not some piece of latex. And I'm asking you now, please, please come in my mouth. I want that very badly."

Oh yeah, that worked. His nostrils flared and his jaw clamped and he went absolutely still. I teased and played with him unmercifully for some minutes, the logical part of my brain wondering when the hot water would run out.

Skinner was gentle with me. Some men tend to lose it after a while and start plunging in recklessly, or grabbing your head and pulling you on to them. Skinner maintained a reasonable semblance of control until the very end. Even then, he only allowed himself to wrap his fingers through my hair as he moaned my name over and over.

The water started to lose its heat soon after. At about the same time I could have sworn I heard a knocking sound.

Skinner turned the shower off and grabbed a towel. He turned to face me, his eyes smiling as he systematically dried me. Then I heard the knocking sound again. He heard it this time as well. His brows knitted together and he answered my unspoken question.

"Someone's at the door."

Without further ado, he grabbed his thick bathrobe and wrapped it around himself as he headed out of the bathroom.

I couldn't help but admire his naked butt along the way.

I stood there toweling my hair, grinning like an idiot for about ten seconds. Then I remembered the telephone was off the hook and the trail of discarded clothing from the front door to the bedroom. I risked a glance outside. Oh, oh, Skinner had not turned on the hall light. It would be a miracle if he didn't trip and break his neck...on the other hand the darkness hid the evidence from anyone standing at the door.

I scrambled around, then ran naked back into the guest room and found my own bathrobe. Definitely not as nice as Skinner's. I rushed back out in time to hear voices. Oh, shit, oh shit he's letting them in the front door! How in hell...didn't he realize...? Had he had time to pick up...?

I ran down the first part of the stairs, clutching discarded apparel and tossing it to the top. I figured I could probably sneak down and grab the rest while Skinner kept whoever in hell it was occupied...who the hell was it anyway...? But the voices gave them away immediately.

Mulder and Scully. Then I saw the light go on and Skinner called my name.

There are absolutely no etiquette books dealing with such a situation, I'm sure. I tied my bathrobe, grabbed a towel from the floor and wrapped it around my head as I went downstairs. And there it all lay, the evidence of our lust, a trail of clothes and shoes and oh God help me my panties artfully draped across one of Skinner's shoes on the second step. Well, that pretty much summed it up, I thought. Three FBI agents in the living room, three pairs of eyes looking up at me and I'm supposed to descend the stairs with some dignity.

Great, just fucking great.

The question, of course, was do I step on or over or around the panty hose? The skirt and Skinner's jacket, well, they were definitely step around, but panty hose just don't rate, nor do men's socks, although in that regard I was luckier. One of them was scrunched up against the wall, somehow having wrapped itself in his tie.

I navigated my way around this stuff, pretending that it was normal to ornament a stairway in this manner. The fact that we were both sopping wet and wearing bathrobes kind of added to the we-have-just-fucked-ourselves-silly ambiance.

Oh, brother...I mean, he was their boss and it was just, well...it just seemed tacky when I wanted to scream out that tacky is far from what it had been. But something in their eyes pulled me up short. Skinner's brows were knitted and he stepped towards me and my heart just about burst out of my rib cage.

"What's wrong?" was all I could manage.

Skinner glanced at his two agents. They shared a look and I knew, God help me I knew.

"It's Jace, isn't it?"

My face must have turned white because Skinner suddenly had me by the elbow.

"What...?" I tired to stammer out.

"Jace...Justin's been abducted." Scully said quietly.

"How...?" But as sure as I knew it was Jace, I guessed why. I turned to Mulder, my face cracking. "It's him, isn't it?"

He swallowed and nodded and I could see pain and sympathy twist his face. He knew, perhaps more than anyone in that room, he knew what I was feeling. I crumpled back into Skinner's arms.

* * *

**Day 22 - Saturday**

**Crystal City, Virginia**

**2:50 a.m.**

Skinner had the telephone to his ear. He'd motioned for Scully to accompany Crystal upstairs to pack while he made numerous calls and Mulder brought him up to speed.

Crystal's youngest brother, Justin, had been abducted from his bedroom. As near as they could tell, it was sometime between 10:30 p.m. and midnight. The bedroom was in a separate annex to the hotel, on the ground floor. The 7-year-old boy was a restless sleeper and various family members were accustomed to checking him during the changing nightly shifts in the hotel. It was not unusual to find he had kicked off the bed covers and was cold and shivering. His father, Andreas, had checked on him at midnight. He was surprised to find the window wide open. The outside temperature was well below freezing. The boy was gone and Andreas, instinctively going to the window, noticed a few drops of blood on the edge. He also noticed large footprints and more blood drops outside. He immediately called the police, then tried Crystal at Skinner's home, only to find the number busy.

Skinner's lip twitched in annoyance, but there was nothing he could say to that. Fortunately, Andreas had the presence of mind to call the FBI duty supervisor across the road.

Within minutes, they had called Mulder's home number. Scully had accompanied him to Skinner's apartment.

As Mulder filled Skinner in, Scully followed Crystal upstairs. Acutely aware of the conflicting emotions the woman would be experiencing, Scully kept her eyes down as Crystal picked up assorted clothes along the way. When they reached the top of the stairs, the sight of Skinner's underwear at the entrance to his room, and the evident disarray of the bed covers within was just too much. Crystal breathed out loud and flung the clothes on the floor in abandon and turned to stare at Scully. She pulled her lips to one side in a "What can I say?" look.

Scully lifted her lower lip in a partial smile and said,"I'm glad.

For both of you."

"And what about you?" Crystal asked softly, her eyes motioning downstairs.

Scully's eyes slipped aside, but not before Crystal saw the pain and longing in them. With sudden acute insight, she added, "You have to be the one to make the first move. He loves you far too much to place his burdens on you."

Before Scully could reply or even turn away, Crystal went into the guest bedroom to pack. Scully was left a little dumbstruck at the woman's insight in the face of her own grief. She would make one hell of an FBI agent.

Scully bent to sort out Crystal's clothes from her boss', tossing Skinner's on to his bed and carrying Crystal's into the guest room. Scully herself felt no embarrassment at the situation. She'd once had to autopsy a woman Skinner had been having intercourse with not ten hours before, examining the woman's vagina for evidence of sexual abuse. In her profession, dignity necessarily came in other forms and she had lost none of her respect for the A.D. over that incident, despite the unusual circumstances. Skinner himself might have suffered a few moments of embarrassment when the agents first entered his apartment that evening, but he had pushed it aside quickly. He'd suffered much worse at the hands of the D.C. police and OPR.

Crystal was stony-faced as she tried to pack, but she couldn't decide what to get together. She put her hand on her face, suddenly at a loss where to begin. Scully touched her shoulder and said, "You get changed and I'll pack, okay?"

Crystal nodded and left for the bathroom.

Moments later, Skinner appeared at the door. "Agent Scully, there's a flight leaving in forty-five minutes. I have all four of us booked on it, can you make it in time?"

Scully finished folding the coat in her hand and placed it on top of the other clothes in the suitcase. She turned to Skinner. "Yes, sir, Agent Mulder and I have overnight bags in the car. Do you want us to wait for you?"

Skinner nodded his thanks and went to his bedroom to change.

* * *

The plane doors had just closed when Scully arrived at the boarding gate, Skinner, Mulder and Crystal just steps behind. Scully demanded the door be reopened. The pedantic airline employee insisted it was too late. Scully's coat had pulled to one side and the airline attendant, sick to death of being bullied by government bureaucrats, added that in any case he had no notification of weapons being carried on board. They would have to go back and get the proper security clearance, then he would be formerly notified and they could catch the next flight in four hours.

Crystal's face fell. Skinner simply grabbed the airline attendant by the arm, motioning for Mulder, Scully and Crystal to go into the boarding tunnel. Crystal saw him pull out his ID and say something to the attendant. Scully hurried her along. By the time they'd reached the plane itself, the door was reopening and the fixed plastic smiles of flight attendants met them. Crystal looked back to see Skinner's stony face right behind.

There were more than a fair share of scowls from the other passengers as the four of them made their way to their seats. The scowls vanished however, at the sight of weapons inadvertently exposed during the shedding of coats. Crystal looked at Skinner, wondering.

He winked at her and replied, "Never underestimate the power of intimidation."

For the first time since hearing the news, Crystal allowed herself a small smile.

The plane was half empty, allowing two separate rows for Mulder and Scully, Skinner and Crystal.

Scully had gotten little sleep the previous night, worrying about her partner's whereabouts, and none so far that night. After the plane took off, she finally allowed herself to settle back and try for some sleep. Mulder had covered her hand with his, as he often did during bumpy takeoffs. He went to release it as they leveled off, but Scully, mindful of Crystal's words and the bewildering revelations of the night, turned her hand under Mulder's palm and clasped his fingers tightly. Mulder rolled his head to one side in mute question at the intimacy of her grip, a little surprised at her action, but she had already closed her eyes.

The airline stewardess walking by a few minutes later, frowned at the site of the FBI agents seated in rows 48 and 49. First they delay departure, then they act like lovestruck teenagers. The bald-headed one had his arm around the darkhaired woman, stroking her hair and apparently whispering sweet nothings. The cute one behind had a redhead asleep on his shoulder, her hand clasped in his, resting on his lap.

Jesus, so much for the big bad G man image. What a life, running round the country, flashing guns and badges to get their own way, fucking like jack rabbits in motels, no doubt, all at the taxpayers' expense. No wonder the crime rate was through the roof.

Scully awoke with a start. Her head rested on a familiar yet oddly unfamiliar form. She jerked upright and blinked.

"Sorry, sir."

Skinner glanced down at her. "That's perfectly all right Agent Scully. Glad you could get some sleep."

"Where's Mulder?"

"With Dr. Palmer."

Scully nodded. Mulder would need to get as much information as possible about the victim, about Crystal's brother, in order to predict how the UNSUB might act.

"How do you feel?" Skinner asked as she cupped her face in her hands.

"I'm fine, just need some coffee."

Skinner pressed the attendant button. He glanced at Scully again and said, "It's always worse when it's someone you know, or close to them."

Scully wasn't sure if he was talking about her, or himself.

"Mulder doesn't think he'll kill him, might not touch him," she replied.

"Mm, I've read his profile."

"The one the Seattle P.D. shelved." Scully hadn't meant to sound bitter. She'd told Mulder the same thing, the death of the four perpetrators had seemed to give closure, "Still, even Mulder was surprised at the speed with which he reacted."

"What do you mean?"

The flight attendant arrived, complete with surly resignation.

"Can we have two coffees here, please?"

She nodded and left, idly wondering who was banging who.

Now it was the cute one sitting with the dark-haired woman, holding her hand and Red had just been sleeping on the older guy's shoulder.

The next row up, Mulder was talking quietly to Crystal. He had been with her for the previous two hours, trying as much as possible to get inside the mind of her brother.

"How will he react to this?" Mulder asked her. "Will he be submissive or rebellious? Will he attempt to escape, or fight back or will terror dominate him? I would expect the terror to paralyze him, he's only 7 years old, after all."

But if his sister was anything to go by, Mulder thought, the kid might just show some cunning.

"Why him? Why now? All of the others have been...what was the term you used, opportunistic?" Crystal asked.

"He's angry, furious what we took from him. This guy is different from most serial killers. He doesn't want to get his hands dirty, literally. I doubt he even has much physical contact, let alone sexual contact, with anyone.

His thrills are vicarious. He likes to watch. I had hoped that he may have satisfied his urgings with his current video collection. And that might have remained the case, but I think he acted spontaneously and took advantage of a situation. I'd suggest he was a frequent visitor to the hotel, probably your Sunday night buffets. He's intelligent though, so it probably won't be a regular, although I wouldn't discount that."

"But he would have avoided the hotel while the FBI were there, surely."

"No, no, that would have been the attraction. This guy would have gotten off on hanging around the hotel. It was the center of operations. Being there was a constant reminder. Although he's way outside the type of most serial killers, certain psychological aspects still fit. Keep in mind he likes to watch. He probably started out with mainstream porn, progressed to kiddie stuff and snuff movies, the latter of which are an expensive specialty item unavailable through regular channels. Then something happened, he got involved with porn producers and liked to watch live shows. He's probably still a regular at the strip joints, although they don't do much for him anymore.

But every aspect of his life revolves around his need to watch, and that included watching the police then the FBI work on the crimes. It allowed him to relive things over and over. He had no reason to believe he would be a suspect and therefore no fear of apprehension."

Mulder trailed off, realizing he was verbalizing aspects of his profile rather than answering Crystal's question.

"Did Justin like to sleep with the window open?"

Crystal frowned and nodded. "Jace is a restless sleeper and no matter what the weather, he insisted on having it open, even if it were just an inch. So what are you thinking?

That this guy came back to the hotel last night to recapture some of the thrill, found it empty of what he needed then discovered Jace's window open and couldn't resist?"

Mulder pulled back and looked at her, surprised that she had so quickly grasped the situation. "Pretty much. He grabbed Justin on a whim. But now he's got him, he won't know what to do with him. He's not going to want to deal with an aggressive child, it's more like a...not really a trophy but an item he might pick up in a supermarket and put in the cupboard until he can find a use for him. And this guy needs to find other participants to live out his fantasies. And that's going to take time and money.

Meanwhile, I think he'll keep your brother captive somewhere. I doubt if he'll mistreat him because he won't want to physically handle him."

"But the blood..."

"Did Justin suffer nosebleeds? Look, your father said it was no more than a few drops. I just can't see this guy hurting your brother because he couldn't stand to get any on himself." Mulder turned to look at Crystal and added "I can't guarantee anything, but don't go tearing your heart out wondering what he's doing to Justin, or that Justin is still alive. I'm pretty sure he'll be okay for at least a few days, probably longer."

"Yeah, but if this guy is as anal as you say, he won't put up with Jace having a nosebleed or being noisy or crying or putting up a fight, right? And if he keeps him locked away, if he treats him like an object, he won't expect Jace to....I don't know...make a mess, or a fuss, that sort of thing."

Mulder was taken back. Either this woman had done a few undergraduate years of psychology or she was extraordinarily analytical, even when her emotions were involved and she was stressed. Either way, she was going to make one hell of an FBI agent.

"I won't lie to you, that aspect is a concern. But it depends on Justin, if he's as insightful as you, even at that age, he'll instinctively keep a low profile."

Crystal nodded "Jace...Justin is amazingly empathic. He picks up on people very, very fast and he's observant. The only thing is, he's pretty hyper and being confined for any period...I don't know."

She glanced at Mulder, trying to seek an answer to a question she was afraid to ask.

Mulder turned his head to one side. "What is it?"

Crystal paused then decided to plunge ahead, "I...I was outside when you were on the roof the other night," she felt him instantly freeze up. "No...no it's okay, Skinner told us...and more or less threatened us with unspeakable horrors if we ever breathed a word. But he also explained that it's a sort of...psychic ability."

Mulder's face remained closed but his body relaxed a little.

Crystal breathed deeply. "I...I can't imagine a more frightening talent. But you use it to save people's lives.

You...give of yourself to do that and I am both awed and humbled that you would willingly do such a thing at the risk of...well frostbite at the very least."

Mulder allowed himself a slight smile.

"And I have no right to ask it of you, but I'm going to."

Crystal added, searching his face.

Mulder shook his head no, "I'm afraid it doesn't work like that." He was unsure how much she understood, but now was not the time to explain it only worked if the killer was in the process of his kill.

"Skinner called in while you were packing." He continued "Agent Smith had taken it upon himself to run the profile in the national database and with what we know, with other aspects of the profile, I'm almost betting we'll have a short list to work on by the time we get to Seattle. There was little to go on at the farm, but once we get all the elements and start putting them together... And once we have names, we can start running traces and access driver's license photos..."

"And can check to see if we recognize any customers."

"Yeah. Crystal, we have a lot more to go on that you think.

The FBI resources are what located Sarah Jefferson and Steve Baxter and we had them pinpointed within thirty-six hours. It was just damned good luck to have netted all four."

"What if there were more? What if there were six or more?

Then..."

"Nothing indicated that; don't go giving yourself unnecessary pain over this. As I said, I won't lie to you, nor can I make guarantees, but I think we have a good chance on this one."

A short time later Skinner came back to take his place beside Crystal. Mulder nodded that he had as much as he needed and stood, stretching his back before resettling next to Scully.

"Get much sleep?" he asked his partner.

"Yes, but I woke up on the wrong pillow."

Mulder chuckled. "Hope you didn't drool."

She glared at him.

"Sorry." He smiled. "I needed to talk with Crystal, get a feel..."

"'S'all right Mulder, I know." Scully placed a hand on his arm and smiled.

Mulder absently covered her hand with his, running his thumb along the back of her wrist, but Scully felt uncomfortable with the contact. It was an intimate gesture, yet everything about Mulder told her he had emotionally withdrawn from her. Not as a friend or partner, that was still very much intact, but as...well, something more. His thumb across her wrist was causing her body to respond in a less than platonic way. She turned her hand until their palms met, then squeezed his hand and let go.

His story of alien beings the previous evening had affected her in unexpected ways. Mulder had always found it somewhat incredulous that her entire life was based on the narrow parameters of science, yet she placed faith in unquantifiable, unprovable religious convictions. She herself had such doubts, having abandoned most aspects of her faith in medical school. But her cancer and perhaps more importantly, prior to that, her meeting Kevin Cryder, then the strange events not long after Emily's death, had driven her to question her lack of faith.

Scully had looked upon the face of evil and knew it to be real. Why then could she not be gratified that the spiritual, both good and evil, could be quantifiable? That both good and evil were a form of metaphysical possession by alien beings?

Because it was just too damned Mulderish.

"Mulder, the things you told me last night, doesn't it strike you as rather Erik Von Danikenish?"

"Sure, but so did Gibson Praise. It makes a lot more sense when you look at it that way, that we are all in this together, Scully. That our origins, be they gray Reticulans or men from Mars, are essentially the same, because all matter was formed at the same time and we are all a part of that. That's why we could never find proof of the differences, because the proof lies within us. Not all DNA is activated, but every species on the planet, and elsewhere, are formed by a unique combination of DNA. And science, Scully, has a bad habit of ignoring that which it cannot explain. What's not activated is called junk DNA, but don't you see that is a limitation of science? Just look at the term, *junk* DNA, how scientific is that?! It's another way of saying, hell, we don't know what it is, we can't see how it works, therefore it must be junk.

"Scully, that's a scientific cop out, big time. One day someone will come along and prove it's not junk, but inactive in our species, and science will go, oh yeah, that's great, and incorporate it into prevalent thinking.

It's not as if that sort of thing hasn't happened before.

Hell, one minute the world is flat and anyone who said otherwise was burned at the stake. The current paradigms by which we live are just that, paradigms, not hard and fast fact. To me it is not simply the height of folly but out and out hubris that our current science believes it is capable of explaining everything in the universe. If it could, then what would the point of research be? We may as well sit back and declare we know everything now."

He turned to face her and capturing her hand in his again continued, "Scully, you know that. You look for ways of quantifying what we have seen and you have personally discovered whole new species, an entire subcutaneous muscle group...the list goes on. I'm not asking you to abandon your science, nor your rigorous analysis of the known facts. But I would have thought by now you would have come to accept that not everything can be explained within current scientific thinking."

Scully sat with her chin tucked in and frowned. "But I have, Mulder. You've shown me things that challenge me on an almost daily basis."

"And yet you rarely admit when I am right."

Scully sat quietly. He was correct, of course, but she had no answer for him. Or perhaps she had and it was just not one she wanted to believe of herself. Instead, she smiled and said, "Give you an inch, Mulder..."

He laughed aloud. "So that's it!"

She chuckled with him but then frowned and pulled her hand away again. "But we're not talking about science, here, Mulder. What you talked about was...trying to explain the spiritual in physical terms."

"No, Scully, that's just it. I wasn't. These creatures are metaphysical. I'm not sure if the black...thing I saw entwining itself throughout people's minds was what I perceived it to be. You know as well as I do that our brains function in a cognitive way. We interpret the unexplainable in a linear fashion, a gestalt impression of a subjective, nonlinear experience. What I described is the way in which my brain perceived it. But it was very clear to me that it is somehow entwined in people's minds, perhaps what we might call their souls. The Meta said some individuals are more susceptible than others. That once enmeshed, it was impossible to disassociate from this...evil... except through physical death and even then, the thing might consume and dominate the soul. Perhaps what we might call hell."

"So how do you fight it off?"

Mulder shrugged. "I'm not sure...I think perhaps as much as it is possible to have this...entity subsume one's mind, one's thought processes, it is also possible to allow what he called the Masters to enmesh with your mind...a defensive barrier of good versus evil. Perhaps the manifestation of this in some individuals leads to sainthood, who knows? The thing is, Scully, I saw and felt it, both sides of it. And it makes complete sense, it explains...everything, from religion to philosophy to psychology to the paranormal, alien visitation -- everything in the X-files, it's all there, it all makes sense!"

His voice had lowered in volume, but increased in intensity. His excitement was undeniable. But just because he had his answers did not mean he was about to give up the fight.

"Scully, nothing of what I told you last night conflicts with your concept of God. Certainly you believe in evil, both in a metaphysical and tangible sense. Presumably you believe in benevolent beings, angels if you like. It's a common tenet that good guys become angels when they die. I can't tell you with absolute certainty that what I saw was an angel. I can tell you that in our mythology...okay, okay." He held up his hand, realizing he was about to go into another long ramble. "Look, all I'm saying is, I was shown...things, that gave me understanding of the nature and capacity of good and evil. I am physical proof that *something* happened to me that afternoon. If not what I describe then I'm prepared to accept it as something else.

Just show me what that something else is, Scully. But before you try, ask yourself the question, why?"

"What do you mean?"

"Why do you need to disprove what I saw? It has always been important to you to quantify things, yet as you pointed out, you can't quantify the metaphysical. Now, I can at least give you some explanation that makes sense and your automatic reaction is to deny it because it doesn't fit within your science or religious philosophy. Yet it does!"

They were interrupted by a flight attendant offering them breakfast. The everyday actions of dropping tray tables and juggling napkins and utensils allowed Scully time to absorb his...accusations. Because that was what they were. Yet what was he asking of her? To believe him or simply accept what he said might have some validation? On the basis of what? The physical evidence of his body? Could she offer an alternative explanation? No, but that didn't mean his was the right one. She closed her eyes for a moment and rubbed a hand across her face.

"And if I cannot accept what you tell me, then you can no longer accept my presence on this...journey..."

"Scully, that's not it at all and you know it," he answered with some frustration. "The director made you an offer. An offer, I believe you should accept because you have your answers, you have resolution and it's time for you to move on. Isn't that what you want? I agreed with your reasoning and it gives credibility to the X-files. I believe in that, I believe in the work, perhaps now, more than ever, because I see a need to fight this manifestation of...evil...I mean how did you expect me to respond?

How did you want me to respond? Convince you not to accept?

Tell you that you should stay with me and believe something which you continue to refute? It's not like you to dissemble, you're too honest a person."

Scully had lost her appetite and pushed the food aside.

She had no answer to give him because he was right. What exactly did she expect of him, that he would give up his quest?

When she did not answer, he added, "For once, Scully, this is not about me, it's about you. I told you what I saw because you wanted to know, not because I have any desire to convince you. I want what you want, I want you to be happy and this offer is a golden opportunity. What is the difficulty in you accepting that?"

"Giving up on me, huh?"

"That presupposes you want me to convince you to stay."

"Jesus, I hate it when you play psychologist with me!"

He sighed. "Look, Scully, I don't want to wrestle with you on this. I've given you physical proof and against my better judgment, an explanation that fits the evidence, the science and religious philosophy. And because I know you still can't accept that, I'm agreeing with the proposal!

What more do you want?"

The word had left her mouth before she realized she'd spoken. "You."


	15. Chapter 14

**Flight 308 to Seattle**

Scully closed her eyes in the bitter realization she had made a complete fool of herself. For a while she thought he really had not allowed his windowing abilities to badly affect their relationship. Since his disappearance and return he had been Mulder at his best. The easy repartee of their partnership seemed back to normal, his bad jokes and innuendoes thrown at her resumed in their usual form. He had also seemed more content, less guilt-ridden, even when the body of the last two victims were found. He accepted it instead of drawing into himself. But his easy affection lacked the undercurrent of passion and it had been made clear he no longer entertained a more personal relationship with her.

How much of that was due to his strange abilities and what she had been subjected to in the morgue she was unsure. But the truth now rocked her. Whatever he had experienced with the Meta had genuinely allowed him to come to terms with his past, his present and his future. And his spirit, made whole by his experience no longer depended on her. And that is why he could give her up so easily.

The knowledge shocked her to the core, bringing with it an almost overwhelming grief. That he should be healed and in so doing abandon her, freely, happily giving her what she truly wanted, now explained the content and meaning of his e-mail. Then it dawned on her that this was, far more than the physical evidence of his now scar-free body, sure proof that what he said was true.

Oh, my God..had she loved him and stayed with him only because he needed her? Was her own spirit so small and wanting that she defined herself only in terms of being needed? Was altruism truly selfishness defined by those who need to be needed? She, Dana Katherine Scully, independent, refusing to give of herself suddenly felt a sense of loss and abandonment like she had never known.

She looked up in to his face, a face touched by God...whatever he defined Him to be and saw in it the truth. That he loved her so truly, so selflessly that it brought him genuine happiness to open his arms and set her free. How could she have been so blind? He had done this before, with Emily, prepared to give her away, give her a chance at motherhood, despite his great need. Now, he no longer had any need. She turned away as, to her horror the tears finally spilled from her eyes.

"Oh, Scully, don't cry, c'mere," and he tried to pull her into an embrace.

But she would have none of it. She had needed his need, but she could not tolerate his pity. Instead, she pulled at a napkin and turning to the window, dried her eyes. Never let it be said that Dana Scully couldn't clamp down on the emotional walls swiftly and surely. Damn herself for letting him see her weak like this!

The flight attendant came to collect the meal tray and Scully excused herself to go to the bathroom. She needed to reapply makeup and fix her hair. Refusing to look Mulder in the eye, she climbed across his long legs and walked steadily to the rear of the plane.

For his part, Mulder sat slightly stunned at her revelation. In fact his instinctual response was to get very turned on. Oh, he had been aroused countless times by the sheer fact of her presence. And she had told him by her actions that she loved him. But the signals were constantly mixed and their professional roles easier to fall back on than risk all. It was only on her couch, three weeks before, that he seriously thought he could take their relationship to a different level.

Since then, he had exposed her to something about himself no one should have to experience. Sure, it wasn't _him,_ but it was due to an inherent ability in him. That wasn't a glove he could peel off and toss away. The memory of his first wife, a beautiful young biologist whom he'd married after he left Patterson, returned to haunt him. What he had done to her, not physically, but spiritually, had been something he swore he would never subject another woman to.

That Scully had seen it still weighed heavily on him. He was willing to believe she accepted it as another aspect of his profiling talents. She was his friend, his partner and he was thankful beyond words that aspect of their relationship had not changed. But as a psychologist, he knew that any intimacy was forever tainted. As much as Scully might think she could put the image aside, it would creep up on her in a vulnerable moment. The Meta had given him hope, on many levels and he simply could not comprehend why Scully would wish to stay.

Now, he knew.

The timing sucked. But then it always had. What in hell was he supposed to say to her now? It seemed no matter what he agreed to, it was wrong. When he wanted to take her in his arms and tell her he loved her, she froze up and ran off to the bathroom to reapply that well known Scully façade. When she returned, well, the Great Wall of China was like tissue compared to her construct. He shook his head. As much as he loved her, with rare insight for his usually dense self, he realized this was something she had to come to grips with. Emotion and logic would have to war in her heart and mind and the victor emerge to show him where he finally stood. But for now, the only way she could deal with this was to pretend it never happened, push it aside and tramp all over it with the need to tackle the case in front of them. The least he could do was give her that, so he pulled out his legal pad and began melding his memorized profile of the UNSUB with what Crystal had supplied him about the victim.

* * *

**Day 22 - Saturday**

**Central Hotel, Seattle**

**From the Journal of Crystal Palmer**

I don't hate flying, but I hate flights. It takes as long to get to the airport and check baggage and then get off the plane and find the damned bags again, then get a cab into town as it does to make the damned flight. Okay, it's a little different when crossing the continent, but you know what I mean. This time, I hated it for an entirely different reason.

From shower to plane in forty-five minutes, including packing. World record. Skinner got us on by bullying. A gun and a badge, well what the hell, there had to be some benefits to the job. Given the scars on his body and a broken marriage, there were certainly plenty of downsides. I hated being so far away. I went through all those guilt things with Justin. If I'd been there, if I hadn't come to D.C., if, if if. But I couldn't really indulge myself in guilt because if I'd still been married I would never have gone back home to live. If the world stopped turning, we'd fall off.

Fuck, I hate if onlys. I've had enough of them in my life, I wasn't prepared to indulge in any more.

Skinner was good. It must be so hard for these guys having to deal with frantic or grieving relatives. And he didn't have the luxury of emotional distance from me, seeing what I'd been doing to intimate parts of his anatomy just an hour before. He was reluctant to let Mulder come talk to me, but I wanted that. I needed Mulder because he was the only one who could tell me how things really stood.

He helped. God, not for a minute did I believe he could. I thought I was just clutching at straws, but he really did help. He placed it all in a picture box and put each piece, like a jigsaw, on the table, helping me fit them together so he could see the picture. He sees it in three dimensions, of course and all I see is the flat image, but it helped, despite the cracks throughout, despite the knowledge that one illfitting piece could see the whole thing fall apart and Justin end up dead. I put the pictures, those pictures out of my mind.

I had to concentrate on the here and now, not the what ifs.

Agent Smith met us at the airport and took us to the hotel. I can't really remember a great deal over the next few hours except it was full of self-recriminations. Dad was beside himself with what he had done, letting the FBI in his hotel, accepting their blood money, paying off the mortgage, knowing this had taken his son from him. But he's like me when it comes to what ifs and eventually, I think I convinced him it was no one's fault, any more that Justin could be blamed for Mom dying. Appointing blame is simply something our family is not big on, even self-blame.

I told him what Mulder told me and he respected Mulder. A lot. He'd not seen what happened on the roof, but he'd heard and he'd seen for himself how Mulder had been so right it was...well... spooky.

I tried to get access to find out what was happening across the road. It was different now since they weren't in our hotel. They were back on their own turf and I was an outsider once more. I started pounding the desk and someone grabbed me and told me to calm down. Took me a few moments to realize it was Skinner. Should have known -- it was like fighting an oak tree. He took me through a door into a private room and I could see the conflict in his eyes. It shut me up right away because I realized I'd put him in a difficult situation. God knows why I was feeling so damned logical because one part of me wanted to pound him and demand he let me help.

"Crystal, you can't be part of this now. Even if you were an agent, you would be ordered to back away. You're too close and that makes it dangerous, not for you, but Justin, because you can't think with a clear head."

I exhaled a deep sigh, folded my arms and glared at him. Fuck, I hate it when people are right.

Skinner pursed his lips. "I promise I'll keep you up to date. The good news is, Agent Smith followed up on Mulder's profiles of the fifth UNSUB. Seattle P.D. had closed the case, but the FBI hadn't. It was, I admit, shelved and I agreed that it could be back burnered...'

"But you knew, Busche knew, Mulder was sure..!" I was incensed they had done that! He could have, he *should* have ordered them to follow up on the investigation!

He stared at me unflinchingly. "The investigation would have been followed up, in due course, but this office is short-staffed and there is a hell of a lot more sick fucks out there. This case is not isolated, though I wish to Christ it was. I am entirely responsible for that decision, not Busche, so you want to blame anyone, you blame me."

Damn him, but I couldn't. I've got this bad habit of seeing the logic in someone else's argument and it was worse because he was prepared to take the responsibility on his shoulders alone. Shit. How can you rail against an honorable man who admits the buck stops here? How many people do that in this day and age?

"Now, listen to me. We have some leads, some good leads on this."

But I stormed out of there. I was closer to the door than him and it wasn't that far from the building exit. I know he started to follow then stopped himself and I was glad. I didn't want him wasting time placating me, I wanted him to find Jace.

I ran across the road and tore back to my room, stripped my clothes and pulled on lightweight bike gear. Some vague deference to good sense allowed me to put a jacket on, it was only just above freezing outside, but I wanted to be cold. I wanted to be totally fucking numb. I couldn't sit here and wait, I had to grind it out, push it out from me.

If I couldn't help, whether I was here or gone made no matter.

I threw my bike down the steps and onto the parking lot, slammed the helmet on my head, and took off around the front. I practically ran two agents down, Mulder and Scully as it turned out, in my haste to get away. Mulder called after me but there was no way I was stopping. If Skinner had sent them after me I would have been pissed with him for wasting his precious fucking limited resources and I'd already given Mulder everything I could. I'd been told to back away. Well screw them, I was.

I checked my mirror then glanced back before turning against the traffic at the corner. I saw Mulder watching me and I knew he understood.

Perhaps he was the only one who really did.

* * *

Mulder looked at Smith and allowed his lips to curl in a slight smile. "You did good. Thanks for putting in the overtime."

Skinner looked away, still torn with guilt that he had ordered the investigation to be steeped down to a lower level of priority. He nodded once to Smith, in recognition of the man's fine work. "I want tails on all six of them.

What's your take, Mulder?"

"This one, Jameison."

"Why? He doesn't fit all the parameters of your profile, that's why I put him at the bottom." Smith asked.

When Smith had started his babysitting assignment on Mulder three weeks previously, he had been both suspicious and resentful. Forenzzi's little speech had made him wary and Mulder's ditching had pissed him off, big time. But Smith had done a complete about face after the rooftop incident. Mulder might be wacko, but he was one of the most dedicated human beings Smith had ever seen. Any man who risked his sanity and his life just trying to crack a case like this, deserved some form of respect. And Mulder was good, damned, but he was good. And he was no coward in the field, another one of Forenzzi's pieces of bullshit.

Smith felt he owed Mulder some sort of an apology, so he'd made a point of working after hours, getting very little sleep, running Mulder's profile through dozens of data bases, cross-referencing them until he came up with thirtytwo possible names. Fine tuning had brought it down to six possibles. When Justin was abducted he recalled Mulder's profile notes indicated the guy probably got off hanging around the hotel during the investigation. He immediately ran the photos past the hotel staff and all the FBI agents and technicians. With no luck, he was about to go back to the discarded names and start again.

Mulder then said that although the perpetrator would have spent time in the hotel, he might have taken pains to disguise himself. Recognizing one of them would have been a lead, but not a guaranteed hit.

Smith had relegated Jameison to the bottom of his main list simply because he was the only one who belonged to a strip club. Mulder's profile indicated he probably wouldn't be that obvious.

"Even my profiles are not gospel," Mulder grinned. "He's taken an unusual step by personally abducting a potential victim. If anything, I figured he's go for prostitutes.

What's the club?"

"Well, this is where it gets interesting and why I kept him as a suspect. It's a regular, reasonably high class strip joint. Squeaky clean. No liquor problems, no drugs, no underage, any of the girls caught selling on the side get tossed. They get a lot of college girls there and they make sure they're escorted home after working hours, safe and sound. Trouble makers and drunks are sent home in a taxi, their fare paid."

"Jeez, we could do with a few like that in D.C." Mulder muttered.

"I thought you preferred yours in two dimensions, Mulder,"

Scully replied.

He smirked. "Always willing to expand my horizons, Scully."

Smith continued, "I think, but there's no proof, that it fronts for a more private club known around the traps as Extras. Vice knows about it but it's hard to prove, you know? They provide singles, couples, mixed bag, dogs and kids are specialty items for private parties. Some of the street kids have worked for them, but they don't last long, it can get pretty rough.

Scully glowered. "And they can't get a bust on them with that?"

Smith's lips thinned and his head rocked to one side. "It's hard to pin it down, they go to ground real fast."

"So, Jameison's a member of the strip joint, but no way to connect him to this private club?"

"From what Vice tells me, the club side of it works in plain view. I mean it's private parties only, clients'

homes. Membership is by reference only and even then, members are apparently checked out pretty thoroughly.

"So, Agent Mulder, why him?"

Mulder couldn't really say why, it was a gut instinct, but every nerve in him screamed that this as the one. He could almost smell the evil.

They had absolutely no evidence to justify a search warrant, but Busche knew a judge whose wife worked for kid's shelters. They had their warrant within an hour, but it did them no good. Jameison's home was on a six-acre block. The security gates were unlocked and no one was home. Not wanting to scare Jameison into doing anything stupid if he had Justin stashed somewhere else, Skinner ordered three teams to quietly scour the house and yards for any sign of the boy, but make every effort to leave no trace of their visit behind. They came up empty-handed. And they still had not traced Jameison's whereabouts.

They had, however, with the cooperation of SPD placed 24hour tails on the other suspects. SPD vice was keen to bust Extras so they sent two of their own plainclothes into the strip club, fistfuls of five and ten dollar notes scrounged from petty cash. Just for appearances, of course.

It had been a long, exhausting twenty-four hours for Scully. She had managed to get a few hours sleep early in the evening, then decided to go down to the restaurant for a late dinner. She'd checked to see if Mulder was in the adjoining room, but it was empty. He said he'd be across the road, reworking a few ideas. Scully hoped he'd managed to put his head down for a few minutes that day.

Scully was surprised to see Crystal sitting alone in a corner at the far side of the restaurant. Crystal caught her eye and motioned for Scully to join her. Most of the tables were full. The weather outside was good and it was a Saturday night. Three weeks, Scully thought. It's been just three weeks. Three weeks since this began, three weeks since Mulder held her in his arms and taught her how to play baseball. Three weeks since he'd started to kiss her.

Three weeks and more had been learned and lost and won than most people experience in three years.

Scully felt an almost overwhelming desire to sit and talk with her sister. Melissa knew her. Melissa could read her and although she might pretend to scoff, Scully would have listened.

Crystal stood as Scully approached.

"I'm sorry, Agent Scully."

"For what?"

Crystal motioned for Scully to sit. One of the new staff immediately placed a carafe of water and fresh bread sticks on the table. The advantages, Scully thought, of eating in a popular restaurant with the owner's daughter.

"For nearly knocking you over this morning. I didn't mean to be so rude, I just had to...get out of there."

Scully nodded her head. "That's all right. Where did you go?"

"I don't honestly know. I just kept going until my knees almost gave out. I went for a run with Skinner yesterday morning." Yesterday morning? Could it have been only the previous morning? Despite the time difference it seemed like weeks had passed since then. "And I forgot how it takes a few days for my knees to recover..." she trailed off, not really having the heart for conversation.

"Sleep any?"

Crystal nodded. "Almost five hours, Agent Cummins brought me up to speed about half an hour ago."

Scully looked at Crystal carefully over the rim of her glass. Crystal smiled and said, "No, she wouldn't tell me his name, but I guessed Mulder was sure who it was."

Scully simply nodded. "Don't worry, Crystal, Mulder's usually right."

They talked for a while and Scully allowed herself a half glass of wine with an excellent stuffed chicken breast. She had already believed Crystal Palmer would make a good agent, but now she began to appreciate that Skinner saw far more than sharp intelligence and classical Greek beauty.

Scully was so absorbed by the woman's pithy and accurate character analysis of Forenzzi, she didn't notice Mulder approach until he was almost at the table.

With a warm smile at Crystal but without preamble he said "Scully, I really need to run something by you..."

Scully put her fork down with a slight sigh of exasperation. He might live on sunflower seeds, but she needed real food.

Mulder looked at his partner with such a woebegone face, Crystal almost burst out laughing.

"All right Mulder, can I at least finish my dinner?"

He smiled. "Sure...fifteen minutes?"

Scully nodded in resignation, but he'd already gone.

Crystal chuckled at the look on Scully's face. "Don't knock it, it's a rare man who's not afraid to admit he needs you."

Suddenly, Scully remembered his e-mail and her face clouded "He doesn't need me. I'll be returning to forensics soon and he's made it clear he'll be happy working alone again."

Crystal stared at her in amazement. She'd had reason to observe them closely these last few weeks. Mulder was driven, passionate, but he needed a grounding force.

Without Scully to guide and protect him, he would destroy himself. But his needs were on many levels. Scully was a bright woman, could she be so dense as to not see that?

Despite her own pained spirit, or perhaps because of it, Crystal could not idly stand by and watch him destroyed, he was too beautiful a soul for that. And if Scully seemed withered now, without him she would curl up and die inside.

Crystal took a deep breath, recognizing the folly of unsolicited advice. "He might be an enlightened, politically correct man of the nineties, but he still has instinctual needs. He's still a man, he needs to be a big brother, he needs to be protective and offer support. He needs...to be needed. You give him professionalism, loyalty, integrity and strength. But you don't trust him enough to give him the one thing he truly needs -- your need."

"That's...not true, I trust him with my life." Scully put her fork down and scowled at the woman opposite.

"But not your heart. Only by giving him your need can you prove your trust. Since you show you have no need for him, and he's an honorable man, he'll let you go with his blessing."

Scully was confused, how could Crystal know..? "You don't understand, the FBI is..."

"A man's world and you see need and love as weaknesses that exaggerate your femininity and throw your professionalism into doubt. You think engineering is any easier? You stand on a few oil rigs in the North Sea or Saudi Arabia, order pit bosses around and see what it's like being a female in a man's world! Trouble is, you've decided you can be a professional or a woman, but not both.

You think you have to cut one part of yourself off in order for the other to thrive. What you don't realize is by doing so, your soul is withering and dying."

Scully shook her head, angry that her words cut so deeply, so true...like Melissa would have done. "Crystal, law enforcement partners are not normal relationships. You depend on each other's strengths."

"Dana, giving love and showing need requires more trust and strength and a braver heart than facing criminals. In order to appear strong, you build walls around your emotions, but they're walls of glass! Anyone with eyes to see, including Mulder, senses the woman behind. But your walls are so thick and hard all he can do is look and desire with a longing heart. He's not a fool, he won't try to break through because he knows the walls would shatter and take you both down. Instead, as a man of integrity, he respects you and backs away, convinced you do not need him.

"You rightly take pride in your integrity and honesty and strength of character and that professional clear head and bravery under fire. But denying him your need is a deception, Agent Scully. It's a lie, to both of you, a lie by omission and worse than that, it's the act of a coward."

Crystal realized she had gone too far, but it galled her, watching these two orbit each other like blinding suns, held in thrall and yet kept separate by an extraordinary magnetic force.

Scully somehow managed to both arch her eyebrows and frown, then politely, coldly, excused herself and left the restaurant, her half-eaten meal now lead in her stomach.

Crystal was about to get up and apologize, but she also saw unshed tears and confusion in Scully's eyes. The agent was not one to let words hurt her unless they were true.

Perhaps, just perhaps, they might break through that strange wall she had erected. If not, Crystal feared neither of them would survive for very long.

Crystal sat in thought for a while. Skinner had walls, too. Too late, he found a way to broach them. She had no idea if their relationship would deepen, but of one thing she was certain. Because of his sensitive position, secrets and freedom to come and go without explanation, she understood without question. But not walls, not like that.

Scully was angry, with herself more than Crystal. Damn the woman for looking into her heart and exposing it like that!

There was no time for this!

She wrapped her emotions out of the way as her cell phone rang.

"Scully."

"Agent Scully? This is Smith, we've located Jameison!" The excitement in his voice was palpable.

"Where?"

"He's just turned up at the strip club!"

Her personal emotions now shunted aside, Scully almost smiled "Well done, Agent Smith, have you informed Agent Mulder?"

"Yeah, just now, he said to call you while he got hold of Skinner and prepared a full backup surveillance team."

Scully all but ran up the stairs to the second floor. She literally bumped into Mulder coming down. He grabbed her to steady her. "Smith tell you?"

"Yeah, let me get my coat and weapon."

"I'll get the car, meet you out front."

Scully nodded, all thoughts of her conversation with Crystal now gone. She trusted Mulder, and although she'd never tell him, she trusted his hunches enough to know this might be the break they were looking for.

As she hurried back downstairs a few moments later, a niggling voice said, well, that's the problem isn't it, you don't trust him enough to tell him...

* * *

**Day 23 - Sunday**

**Seattle**

**12:50 a.m.**

That Smith had been on the ball enough to have traced credit card transactions between Jameison and the Extras Club was bound to springboard his career. Skinner had a personal stake in this one, big time, thought Scully. She was pleased. Mulder had plenty of detractors, so it was good to know he also had one or two quiet supporters, even if they were only junior agents.

Mulder had parked around the corner in the shadows, their dark blue Taurus blending with the night.

He had given no further thought to Scully's inadvertent confession on the flight. It was neither insensitivity nor indifference, but the way his mind operated. All of his being, to the exclusion of everything else, had become narrowly focused on locating Jameison, saving this child and stopping the bastard permanently. Whatever he and Scully were to each other was held frozen in time until then.

Over the years, Scully had come to understand his singleminded tenacity. Give him a shovel and a desert and tell him the evidence was out there, then while everyone else threw up their hands in despair, he'd start digging enthusiastically. And, oblivious to everything around him, he'd keep digging, never giving up until he dropped dead. That he was an embarrassment to his peers, that he sometimes ignored Scully and ditched her meant nothing to him in the face of his truth. In time, her respect for this tenacity had evolved into admiration and eventually, love.

He was the most extraordinary human being she had ever met.

If he sometimes lacked the simple social skills and thoughtfulness people displayed to one another, it was a cheap price to pay for his friendship and companionship.

Scully knew all this, yet she sensed in him now a relaxing of the previous day's concentrated tension. It had all come down to the here and now. Jameison was inside, all they had to do was sit and wait.

Scully gulped, Crystal's accusation playing heavily on her mind. This was neither the time nor the place, but they could be there for hours. Mulder's active mind, having gone over every scenario a dozen times, was starting to get restless with boredom. His hand began to fiddle with the heater, a sure sign. They sat quietly, comfortable on a professional level, but as Mulder's obvious boredom increased, the air of tension between them of things spoken and unspoken the previous days, became stifling. The darkness gave her a measure of freedom to expose her soul.

"I'm...afraid, Mulder."

He glanced swiftly at his partner, immediately understanding this was not about the stakeout.

Scully continued, "Crystal finally made me realize something this afternoon, that I was...a coward."

"You're no coward, Scully."

But his response was not as intense as it should have been. In many ways he was not surprised by her next words.

"When it comes to my emotions, I am."

He said nothing, realizing she had come to a decision. He waited quietly in the dark, letting her do this at her own pace.

"And so are you. What happened with your wife, Mulder?"

That threw him, when had this become about him? But then, he had always been more able to reveal himself to her than she could to him. And his marriage was an issue she was bound to bring up someday. An issue he would sooner forget.

But as he had insisted on her emotional honesty, so he could give her no less in return. It was time she learned the truth, the whole truth.

"Scully, once I come out of these mirroring events, it honestly has no long term effect on me. If I mirror a victim, on some level, I know I felt their pain, but it's like a dream. It's gross, ugly and horrific but you're analogy to a glove is more accurate than you might imagine.

I've always thought of it as like watching a horror movie.

It sends cold shivers down your spine at the time, but you walk outside into the warm light of day and shrug it off.

"Trouble was, Bill had me back into the damned theater before my feet had touched pavement and it started to get to a point where I couldn't remember if there *was* a light of day.

"The last case with him, fourteen young men, all early twenties, had been badly beaten, sodomized, shot in the extremities and left to die of exposure. This particular mirroring I was channeling the victim, similar to what happened on the hotel roof. Scully, for some reason, when it's a victim, I have a lot more control, but there is a trade-off. I see a great deal less and sometimes, unusually, my own psyche gets caught up in it. I can be jerked out of it before it comes to an end. You pulled me out of the last one."

Scully looked down at her hands. She'd finally confessed how much she needed him. She'd sworn then that he would never have to face it alone again...but in her cowardice and the cold reality of morning, she had once more, backed away. Crystal was right indeed.

Mulder continued. "Maybe it's because they _are_ victims and therefore weaker, I don't know. Bill knew that as well as me. And he knew whether my body became victim or killer, I witnessed it all. Despite that, he...lost it that night.

The victim had been badly beaten around the mouth. His jaw was broken and he was in incredible pain. The killer, Jackson Grujik, had just sodomized him, then tried to force himself inside the victim's mouth. It was impossible because of the physical damage, but I must not have conveyed that to Bill. The next thing I know, Bill's trying to..."

He broke off, he'd already told her on the rooftop what Bill had done.

"Is that what snapped you back?"

Mulder nodded once. "I think a lot of shit the previous few years came down on me all at once. I didn't know if he was gay or bisexual or just caught up in the moment. Thinking about it later, I believe he'd kept it tightly controlled all these years, but had started to succumb to his own personal madness. Not immersing himself, but actual psychosis, like the Mostow case. It didn't surprise me when he tipped then, I'd already had my suspicions. Seeing the clay on his hands was just the giveaway.

"But that last time with me, I wasn't thinking too clinically. I was furious on many levels, not the least of which by pulling me out of my trance, it interfered in the process of evidence gathering. He said he was trying to make it more real for me, so I could see more clearly, but...

Look, I heard the crap Forenzzi put out about me and it bothered me only in that it was taking Skinner's time up with press releases when it could have been put to more use elsewhere.

"Scully, I'm not even vaguely gay. And believe me, when you spend time at Oxford, you find out one way or another, despite the likes of Phoebe. But I can understand how someone would think that, or worse, pedophilia, witnessing one of these events.

"Patterson, of all people, knew that. He knew me because we'd had good reason for those issues to be discussed over years traveling together. So when the stupid son of a bitch shoved his dick in my mouth...I fucking near took his head off. Took four agents to get me off the bastard, despite me being physically run down."

He hadn't meant to be quite so graphic with her, but the memory of it still made him wince. It was this involuntary shudder that convinced Scully, if she had any lingering doubts, that his mirroring truly was outside of who and what he was.

"All the times I'd ever been immersed in these incidents, they've never been part of me or what I am. Patterson's action was up close and too damned fucking personal."

"You never considered pressing charges?"

He glanced at her sideways. "For what? For interfering with a case, obstruction of justice? Sexual assault? Jesus, Scully, it might have made me sick and I never forgave him for it, but it's not the sort of thing you ruin a man's life over. What it did do was wake me up out of a continuous two and a half years long fucking sick movie show.

"So I walked. Came close to leaving the FBI altogether, but the director convinced me to take accumulated leave and as much personal time as I thought I needed.

"I went up to Chilmark for a time. Not to see Mom, although I spent a day or two with her. I had a few other friends up there, including a woman I'd known off and on for years. She was a biologist, doing some research on coastal dune vegetation."

He lifted his hand and ran it through his hair. The memory of those months was bittersweet. He'd spend weeks with her, just the two of them, exploring the coastline. He recalled her excitement as she'd dig into the sandy soil, examining the root structure of an unidentified dune plant. She'd drag him out in the foulest weather so she could see exactly what happened to dune-stabilizing grasses in high velocity winds, then they'd end up making love on the beach in the middle of a storm. God, he had loved her in a simple, pure, innocent way.

"I was a naive fool to think I could bring her back with me. She was a post grad at American University and it all seemed logical that I'd go back to work and we'd get married and live happily ever after. But things happened. I went into the VCU and my partner was killed."

"Steve Wallenberg."

He nodded. "Yeah. Meanwhile, Patterson used the opportunity to try and convince OPR I wasn't suited for..."

"But they cleared you!"

"Yes, they cleared me, but by then, I'd started to discover a few things. I'd met Arthur Dales and had one very bad hallucinatory experience with an unknown substance. That's how I met the Lone Gunmen -- although they didn't call themselves that, yet. But the experience led me to relive something of my sister's abduction. I met Doctor Verber and started regressive hypnotherapy sessions. Scully, it was a...confusing time in my life and I let myself be pulled back into the BSU, conditional on Patterson keeping the hell away from me.

"It was only a couple of months after Julie and I were married that I agreed to deep profile, then finally, mirror a bad case. She'd gone up north for a few weeks and I let myself run down until I could get into the mind of this guy. The trouble was, she came home unexpectedly.

"Even that wouldn't have mattered, but this guy hit his last victim two days sooner than we expected. It was opportunistic and happened with virtually no warning, woke me from a deep sleep and I never had a chance to call up the unit and warn them to come get me. "

Scully closed her eyes and reached across for his hand.

His voice was almost a whisper as he continued.

"I could always shelve the things we dealt with in the VCU. I could come home and forget about them with Julie. Oh sure, she knew I was an FBI Agent and accepted I wore a gun. But she disliked it, disliked violence in any form, wouldn't even watch cop shows on television. If I left my gun lying around she'd cover it with something, couldn't even bring herself to move it out of the way. I tried to show it to her when I'd clean it, thinking if she could understand the mechanism, she wouldn't be so afraid of it, but she refused and I didn't have the heart to push it. It was an aspect of my life she accepted, but she didn't like it."

Scully sat quietly, wondering what a Fox Mulder who was not yet obsessed with the X-files would have been like. A young man coming home to a beautiful, loving wife at the end of the day. She would have grounded him, allowed the ugliness of the VCU to be swept aside...until his own personal demons caught up with him.

His voice trailed off as memories assailed him.

"What happened?" Scully prompted quietly.

He shrugged in the dark. "Much the same as you, but this guy used to shoot his victims before leaving them to die of exposure, or blood loss, whichever came first. So instead of a scalpel, I used my gun."

Scully let out an involuntary moan. Oh, God, it had been bad enough for her, a pathologist and FBI agent who had already seen Mulder in the throes of his own personal demons. But for a naive young woman who loved him in an innocent and simple way, who knew nothing of Mulder's necessarily violent life, a person who both feared and hated guns...oh, my God, what she must have experienced.

What Mulder must have suffered.

"When they explained it to her, she was good about it. I guess I should have expected nothing less. She was always generous to a fault...but after seeing that, Scully, after having gone through that, no woman..."

"Mulder, it was different for her, she would never have understood it."

"That's why she agreed to an annulment. Just put it past her, past us. She moved to Florida afterwards. It was a good move, professionally, lot of coastal erosion problems down there. She remarried about three, four years back, to a coastal management planner. I think they've even got a kid now.

"The director allowed my indulgence on the X-files as an...apology, and a promise he would seal certain aspects of my file."

"I'm okay about it, Scully, really, but when you ask me if I'd wish for a normal life, just for a while...I...I have, I tried it once and it was very nice but it caused someone I loved far too much pain. I promised myself I'd never do that to anyone again.

"But you can allow yourself to be talked out of self-made promises. I met Diana soon after and fooled myself into thinking it just might work with someone who understood what the work was like. But by then, I was so obsessed with the X-files and finding Samantha that Diana rightfully gave up and left. And Scully, that was it, there was no way after that I'd allow myself to be involved with anyone, ever again. Make no mistake, despite what I've learned, more importantly, because of what I've learned, finding Samantha, fighting the...the lies and the outright evil we see, I see in the X-files, is still all that matters."

They sat silently for some time. Scully wrestled with her own emotions. How could she deal with this now? Had she been mistaken that night he'd taught her to play baseball?

Hadn't he thought there might be something more between them? Damn it! He had started to kiss her, she was not imagining things! The only way now was to risk her heart, to stop being a coward.

"Mulder, how did the others in the VCU deal with your mirroring?"

He laughed. "Morgue humor."

She grasped his hand more tightly and added, "Have you forgotten what your partner is, partner?"

"Scully, look, I'm not blind to...the fact that, well..."

shit, he could do this. "I stupidly fooled myself...I thought for a while that maybe, because of what we'd been through together, that you and I might become...closer than partners and friends. But that was a mistake, Scully. My mistake and I'm very, very sorry if I led you to believe something that I shouldn't have."

"Because of what I witnessed in the morgue?"

"And my obsessive little quest. Scully there's no room for anything else, not now not ever..."

"Mulder, I told you to throw away the glove..."

"Scully, it's not that. But even if it was, Jesus, I know, I really do understand that as my partner and friend you can accept that aspect of me. But...not as a woman."

"Mulder..."

"No, listen to me. I know you hate me playing psychologist with you but what you saw...what you felt...under different...circumstances...those events would replay in your mind. You can't separate the association and I won't, I can't allow that to come between us. So I cannot allow the circumstances to arise where it might."

Scully tried to read his face in the dark. He needed to have this idea knocked out of his head once and for all.

Once it was gone she could try and deal with the other aspects, the Meta and their changing status within the FBI.

One step at a time.

The only sure way she knew how to do this was to finally be honest with him on a very fundamental level. For all Crystal was right in accusing Scully of trying to hide her femininity, Scully knew how he would react, as a man, to what she would say. But there was no other way.

"Mulder, you are talking to a woman who, after examining some cadaver's stomach contents and seeing half-digested pepperoni and mushrooms, gets hungry and starts salivating over the thought of a pizza."

She sat back, wondering how long it would take him to absorb the implications of her analogy. He was a smart man, surely it wouldn't be long...

He jerked in his seat and turned to face her. His body responded far faster than his brain and he idly wondered if the car was dark enough to hide his rapidly growing problem.

Shit, she was a pathologist, for crying out loud. Christ, he'd been a fool! Skinner was right. The damned Meta was right, too! Then he recalled her words on the rooftop. She had called him beautiful, not just his body...Could she really feel that way about him?

Okay, if he accepted that she could ignore the circumstances and concentrate on the fact that she saw and handled _his_ erect penis, could she be attracted to...?...Nah!

As if she could read his thoughts, Scully added softly, "Most people would find it pretty disgusting, in fact downright perverted, that I can compartmentalize my associative memories. Over here, masticated, semidigested pepperoni, cheese, tomatoes and dough in a dissected human stomach. But all I can think of when I'm looking at those remains, when I'm hungry, and I get hungry a lot, Mulder, especially with you, is how good a pizza's gonna taste if I could just be allowed to try."

He was now downright uncomfortable, even in his loose trousers.

They'd become so accustomed to subtext, the rational part of his brain warned him that he was reading it all wrong.

He had to be certain, this was too important to approach from an acute angle.

"So you're saying you can think about...seeing me like that...and..."

He gulped but she finished the sentence for him.

"And feeling you in my hands. Yeah, Mulder, I think about it. A lot. I might be a doctor, but I'm also a woman. I mean, what if the situation were reversed?"

"That's different, Scully, I'm a guy; lascivious thoughts are a constant..."

"And you think women don't have them too?"

He was tempted to convince himself that it was because she hadn't been with a man in while. Any hard cock in her hands might have been enough to...but not under those circumstances...and not Scully. And if their situations had been reversed, and it had been him touching and watching Scully like that, his brain would also conveniently ignore the circumstances and remember only what it was like to see her, feel her... Shit, he'd be walking around with a fucking splint tying his cock to his leg because the memories would never leave him in peace. Was it possible, in some small way that she felt the same?

But before he could respond she said urgently, "Look!"

Mulder glanced across at the entrance. In the dim light, it was not easy to make him out, but yeah, that looked like Jameison all right. He glanced briefly at his partner and turned on the ignition while Scully radioed through that the subject had left the club. All thought of what they had just been discussing fled from both their minds. But they both knew a monumental barrier had just been broached. And this time, there could be no going back.

"Can you see him, Scully?"

The angle she sat at allowed her a better view of the parking lot.

"Yeah, he's getting into the Jaguar,"

They waited for the vehicle to start. After a few moments Mulder asked, "What's happening?"

"He's just sitting there, like he's waiting for something..."

"Or someone. Shit, Scully, maybe he's already picked up another couple. I didn't expect it quite so soon. If that's the case..."

They glanced at each other in concern.

Minutes passed while Scully kept Skinner briefed. Suddenly the Jaguar's lights came on and it pulled away. Mulder eased the Taurus out to follow, keeping his lights off. As they passed under a street light they could just make out one, possibly two additional figures in the vehicle. They must have approached the car from behind. Scully radioed that information through.

Neither of them commented, but they were both tense now.

Keeping a trail on this guy was critical because if he did have Justin and he had picked up two people to take home with him, at the very least, the boy would be subjected to sexual assault.

A second unmarked car pulled in behind the Taurus and Mulder flipped his headlights on as the three vehicles rounded a corner. The trailing vehicle turned his off, depending on street lights and the vehicles in front to illuminate the way.

Traffic was light. The digits on the clock edged close to 2:00 am. Mulder and Scully pulled away at an intersection, turning left as the Jaguar went on ahead. They continued to coordinate the trail with other vehicles and finally, a helicopter. This was imperative when the traffic became so light that any tail, no matter how far back, would be obvious.

It quickly became obvious that Jameison was heading home.

"Shit!" Mulder exclaimed as he sped through parallel streets, wanting to get to the address and park before the Jaguar arrived.

Scully could feel his frustration and disappointment. If Justin had been kept in the house, the search teams would have found him. But then, it wouldn't be the first time Mulder located a hidden room...A sudden thought hit her.

"Mulder!" she whispered as he turned off the ignition "Wouldn't it be possible that this guy has his own studio on the premises?"

Mulder's head swiveled to his partner. "Jesus, of course!

Soundproof rooms! It makes sense. He could keep Justin inside and the kid could scream his lungs out and no one in the next room would hear him! If the entrance is hidden, no wonder the search team never found him!"

Then Scully stopped and shook her head. "But nothing showed up on the building plans...a sound studio would have required building permits...contractors..."

"Not necessarily. He might have used a Canadian company, or paid cash to a private contractor wanting to avoid tax.

No Scully, I think you're right! Look at all the landscaping, that's tons and tons of dirt -- enough to cover a pretty big underground complex!"

Scully relayed her theory to Skinner as Mulder leaped out of the car and ran to the closed gates. Without warning, the gates swung open and Mulder ducked inside moments before the Jag pulled in. Before Scully had a chance to catch up, the Jag wound up the driveway and security gates closed behind.

The stately old home was surrounded by a ten foot high stone fence. Scully cursed Mulder once again for abandoning her. Jesus, this was just like the farm all over again! And this time, he might not be so lucky.

Shit, shit shit!

Scully practically hopped from one foot to the other as Skinner, Smith and four other agents in unmarked cars quietly pulled up behind the Taurus.

Skinner's bulk once again belied a swiftness and agility that left Scully blinking. Before she'd finished explaining Mulder was inside, Skinner was already atop the wall and reaching for her hand. Within seconds, all seven agents were inside the grounds and making their way to the house.

Minutes passed while they surrounded the house, covering all exit points, but there was no sign of Mulder.

"He'll be inside," Scully answered Skinner's questioning look.

Skinner rolled his eyes, knowing Mulder would never consider the legality of entry. The search warrant could not be used twice. But Skinner would ram probable cause down the judge's throat if he had to. He checked the front door and found it unlocked. Mulder had probably gotten in that way. Any second now, security alarms would likely be going off. But all they could do was play it as it came.

Skinner motioned Cummins to go in first, then Scully, while he covered them. Agents Wilcox and Smith were stationed at the rear door while Busche and Cowley came in behind Skinner. Suddenly a gunshot penetrated the quiet of the night, then shouting and a second then third gunshot from a different weapon.

Scully refused to allow her emotions to take over. This was the biggest fear of a deeper relationship with Mulder, that her feelings would interfere with her ability to act professionally. She allowed Skinner to move ahead of her into the kitchen. The shot seemed to have originated from there. But there was no sign of movement.

Wilcox and Smith came in through the back door but Busche ordered them outside again. There could yet be a third, secret entrance if Scully's theory proved correct. Backup had already been called.

Meanwhile, Scully thought she detected a sliver of light through what she presumed was the ajar pantry door. As she opened it she was almost knocked over by a terrified boy running into her arms.

"He's got a gun! He's got a gun and there's blood everywhere!"

She couldn't see clearly in the dark. "Justin?"

"No, Jace is still down there, with the policeman! He's been shot...there's blood all over the place!"

Scully's heart pounded as she handed the boy to Cummins.

The female agent pulled him into her arms as Scully followed Skinner into the pantry. He glanced back at his agent once, torn between fear for Mulder and for Crystal's brother. Despite the darkness, he saw that same fear reflected in Scully's eyes.

Outside, backup began arriving. It seemed half SPD had been alerted. The external wiring for the gates would soon be dismantled and a half dozen police were climbing the fence. If there was an exit outside of the house, unless it led into an adjacent property via an underground tunnel, noone would escape.

Scully entered the pantry and saw a second doorway leading to a short stairway. She gave it a cursory glance as she passed. It opened away from her and was covered in shelves of food. No wonder the search teams had not found it.

Jesus, how had Mulder figured it out? Her eyes cornered the room below, noting a well laid-out study and two open doors leading elsewhere. Skinner had started through one. He turned and motioned for two of the agents to follow him while Scully went to the next door.

The following sixty seconds were the same confused, organized but uncontrolled pandemonium of the previous week. Sixty seconds in which Skinner was shot by a male assailant, Jameison was shot by Scully, the two assailants taken into custody and EMTs called.

But no sign of Mulder or Justin.

Once she ascertained Skinner's condition, Scully left the pandemonium behind and rounded another corner into a small room. In front of her was a pool of blood spreading around Mulder's prone form. He lay atop a crying boy, his face half gone.

Scully staggered, her grip on her pistol wavering at the sight of her partner, clearly beyond help. For the first time in her life she literally froze in disbelief.

Her gun hand slowly dropped, some part of her mind kicking in that the boy might be injured and she had to get to him, but the sight of Mulder's face...what remained of it...

"No...not like this Mulder! Damn you! Not like this! I _need_ you damn it! You can't ditch me like this!"

But her rational mind knew she was babbling. Fox Mulder had finally gone.

An eternity passed as she moved towards his body, knowing she had to get to Justin. He was what mattered now. The boy Mulder had given his life for...But as she kneeled down to his body something picked her up and moved her aside.

Scully went to fight it, thinking it was another agent...until she saw the bright blue colored flesh inches from her face.

"Shit, Mulder, we need you alive," it said in annoyance.

Scully looked in frozen amazement at the blue man...oh, God, he was not a man! She stared round-eyed as he reached across to Mulder's torn face. Blood still poured from the horrific injury. Despite the fact it had destroyed half his face, his heart still beat. Mulder was still alive, for the moment.

The blue...creature turned to Scully and said, "Good thing I was passing by. I'd never normally interfere, but there's no reason not to do this and every reason to...so..."

He turned his cat like eyes back to Mulder. Seconds passed while Scully, beyond disbelief, fell back to sit on the floor. She noticed that Justin had stopped crying and was staring up at the blue man in awe. When her eyes came back to Mulder's face, it was visible -- and whole.

"How did...you...you..!?" Scully tried to articulate what her scientist's mind refused to believe.

The large blue...man helped the boy out from beneath Mulder's prone form.

The agent blinked slowly and, seeing the Meta standing over him, grinned. "I thought you weren't supposed to help?"

Nik sighed. "I was just in the neighborhood, thought I'd drop by and see how you were doing...but don't get any ideas, I am not your fucking guardian angel. Next time, duck."

Mulder laughed aloud. "I'll remember that."

But before the words were fully out of his mouth, the Meta had disappeared.

Scully stared at Mulder, her jaw slack in disbelief, her eyes fixed on the splattered blood all over his shirt collar and coat. He grinned and winked at her as he sat up, helping Justin to his feet with one hand.

"What was that?" Justin asked in amazement.

"Do you believe in angels?" Mulder leaned down and asked him in the same voice Scully recognized from her first meeting with him seven years previously.

Justin frowned. "Of course not! Besides, an angel wouldn't cuss like that."

Mulder smiled. "Well, then, *that* was nothing. C'mon, you have a very anxious family waiting for you at home."

Justin stared at the big man, then broke out in a grin. "A secret, huh?"

Mulder nodded and smiled in return as he clasped the boy's hand and led him from the room. He didn't bother to look at his partner. She either accepted, or not. As he said, he no longer had the driving need for proof, for the proof was within him, again.

Scully stared back at the pool of blood and tissue on the floor. She knew without doubt when forensics tested it they would find it matched Mulder's. But what was the point? As much as she needed to convince herself that what she had witnessed had been interpreted in some gestalt fashion by her brain, the fact remained that Mulder had just stood up and walked out of the room without a scratch on him.

Oh, my God...he had been right...all these years...what happened to him the week before...it was all true...

Oh, my God...


	16. Chapter 15

**Day 23 - Sunday**

**Harborview Medical Center - Seattle**

**From the journal of Crystal Palmer**

One of the most heart-rending sensations of relief and terror I have ever experienced was hearing Jace was safe and Skinner had been shot. I'm still not sure how I managed to stay upright and I do not recall running across the road and telling everyone that Justin was okay and they were bringing him home.

Dad, Dulcie and Gemma burst into tears while everyone else hugged each other and laughed. It took Dad a few moments to realize I was standing there like a statue, white as a sheet, my fists clenching and unclenching. I was desperate in equal measures to get to the hospital, get back across the road to find out more about Skinner's condition and stay there until Scully and Mulder brought Justin back.

The hotel was half full and I don't think the guests appreciated having the entire staff begin an impromptu party down in the dining room. I didn't notice, though, as Dad took me aside and asked what was wrong.

"Skinner...he was shot," I replied.

"The A.D.? The one you were staying with in D.C?"

I nodded grimly. "I'm going back across the road, I have to find out how he is."

Dad just looked at me with those wise, knowing eyes of his and nodded once.

When I returned a few minutes later, he saw the look on my face and pulled me into the big pantry at the back. I burst out crying as the whole damned thing came down on me. I'm not one for crying. I mean I do, but I think the last really good cry I had was after Paul left me...not when he died, but when he left.

Dad pulled me away from him and made me tell him.

I shook my head and said, "He's okay, Dad, he's fine, really, he was clipped in the arm. They're going to stitch him up and keep him in overnight but that's it. But...it could have been different. Oh, Dad, he might have died, Jace might have died!"

He looked at me in gentle understanding and made me sit down on the step ladder. Dulcie came in, but despite her age, she's pretty sensitive. She took one look and left again. Justin would be here in a few minutes and I needed time to pull myself together.

"Do you love this man?"

I blinked away the tears and answered him honestly "I'm not sure...I...it's all too soon and close and mixed up with Jace and...I haven't told you yet but they've approached me to join the FBI...and I haven't told them yet, but I know without a shadow of a doubt, it's what I want to do."

His hands dropped and his brows furrowed. I knew his first thought was for the danger it might put me in. But we were all in danger, every day, at least this way I felt I had some control.

He wrestled for something to say then asked quietly "Because of him?"

I laughed without humor. "Oddly enough, it's got nothing to do with it. But how did you guess how I felt about him?"

He reached under the side of my collared sweater and touched something on my neck. I actually blushed. How had he seen it there? I'd taken great pains to hide it, easy enough in this weather. But then Dad always was pretty observant.

He smiled. "You're no fool Crys, you know the difference between love and lust. Just take a little time on this because all our emotions are very raw."

Did I mention I have one hell of a Dad? Still, I blushed again.

"But I don't understand why you would want to join them?

You have hated them here."

"No, I didn't realize it until the end, but what I really hated was what they fought. I resented them for showing me that these monsters are here, all around us. But it's like with that detective, Johns. In all good conscience, I just can't sit around and depend on others to protect us, especially not after tonight."

I trailed off as we heard the fuss outside. I wiped my eyes one last time. Scully, Mulder, Cummins, Justin and another boy had arrived. The kids had to be taken to the hospital for a checkup, but since they seemed okay, Mulder insisted they come by here first.

Ten minutes later we're in a convoy to Mercy General.

Fortunately it was the same hospital as Skinner had been admitted to. Now I'd seen Justin and had a chance to hold him and feel for myself he was fine, I needed to see Skinner. Justin was more concerned for his new friend than himself. Near as I can understand the boy, Peter, is the son of a prostitute. I ended up sitting in the front of Scully's car and she told me his mother had _sold_ him to Jameison a few days before. I just about gagged. The things I'd learned the last few months had taught me a few more painful lessons about life. That all the policing in the world didn't stop, or even deter the really bad crimes, especially the ones engendered by society. All it did was fight to reduce the number of victims. What it came down to was not how many you lost, like the children that had been killed over the last eighteen months, but how many you saved. That wasn't something you could calculate, not something you could pat yourself on the back for, but it was more important than simply putting people in jail.

I looked at Scully and felt acutely embarrassed for the things I'd said the day before. Although I'd wanted to shake her out of that façade she wears, I wasn't exactly tactful. But she smiled at me and said, "No, you were right." She didn't say anything more, but I felt better, she'd used the past tense, not the present.

When we arrived at the hospital, it was clear Jace and Peter would be overmothered by half my family and Agent Cummins, so I felt absolutely no compunction following Scully and Mulder to the emergency room.

Skinner was sitting up on the edge of a bed as an intern finished up. He was shirtless and my first reaction, after seeing him looking casually unaffected by the bandaging of his arm, was oh, my God, he really is a magnificent specimen.

I mean, I really hadn't had a chance to look from a distance the other night.

I hadn't had time to develop any sense of possessiveness over Skinner, so I felt more pride than jealousy when I saw Scully giving him the once over. And don't give me that she's a doctor line...and by the merriment dancing in Mulder's eyes, he wasn't buying it either.

Skinner's first reaction was to look both his agents up and down. He frowned when he had a good close look at Mulder and the blood all over his shirt collar. Mulder self consciously tried to cover it with his coat, but the dark stain on the black wool was a give away.

"I heard you'd been shot, Agent Mulder."

Mulder grinned and Scully paled, an odd reaction, I thought.

"Rumors of my demise have, as usual, been exaggerated."

I could see by the look on Skinner's face that he wasn't buying it. I had wondered myself about the blood on Mulder, but Scully had some on her, too. Given the amount of shooting that had happened that night, I figured it must belong to someone else. I reminded myself that these three went back seven years. A long time, a very long time in that lifestyle.

I bit the inside of my lip, wanting to be part of this group, yet feeling like an intruder.

Finally, he turned his eyes on me. We hadn't exactly parted with loving words.

He asked softly, "How is your brother?"

"Fine, he's really fine...thank you." I looked at all three of them as I replied, putting everything I could into that last word.

Skinner nodded once and his eyes changed for a brief moment, just enough for a personal message to be conveyed.

He didn't have to say or do anything more, it was enough.

He then asked Scully to give him a quick run down of the current situation. I moved to leave. He'd made it clear that I was not FBI yet, and he was right. There would be time to talk later. But Mulder touched my arm and motioned me to take a nearby seat.

Skinner gave his full attention to the agents for the next ten minutes, not glancing at me again during their debriefing. These were his people. They were his absolute priority, his loyalty and duty to them and his job would never allow anything, including personal relationships, to stand before that. Rather than being put out, I felt a surge of pride for his passion and dedication. And his honesty, both to them and myself. If we were to develop any kind of relationship then he made no pretenses things would be any different than this.

I watched them during this debriefing and for all his stern demeanor, I sensed a powerful connection between them. They meant a great deal to each other, more than Skinner would allow himself to show.

Skinner turned, grabbed his undershirt and pulled it over his head. There was a dark red stain on the cuff and part of the torso but he ignored it. However when he grabbed his dress shirt, his nose scrunched in annoyance at the mangled and bloodied right arm. I almost gasped when I saw how _much_ blood. Jesus, was he really all right? But his face seemed as tanned as ever and his eyebrows lifted in resignation as he pulled the shirt on.

Scully was making noises about him spending the night.

Then an orderly came in with a wheelchair to take him to his room.

You have to say one thing about authority. When someone has it, they don't have to say much to wield it. Skinner simply stood, looked the orderly up and down, grabbed his jacket and said, "That will not be necessary, I am not spending the night."

Scully started to object while the orderly had the good sense to shrug and leave. Skinner simply looked at her, his face somehow expressionless but imposing. That countenance would have faced down a room full of generals, but all I could think of was how similar it was when I...well, never mind, but it was just as I thought, I could never again take him quite as seriously as he appeared to everyone else. I hid my grin behind my hand.

Scully gave Skinner her car keys and she left with Mulder while Skinner put his suit jacket back on. It was almost as bloodied as his shirt, although being dark it didn't stand out as much. His eyes scanned the room, looking for his overcoat no doubt and he asked me again how Justin had coped with the whole thing.

"He's just very, very hungry. Mulder was right. That bastard didn't touch him, just kept him locked up in a room from the moment he arrived, no food and the only water from a tap in the bathroom. So how bad is that, really?" I motioned to his arm.

He shook his head to dismiss it and recalling the rather wild and frightening assortment of scars he had, I added "C'mon, Skinner, I'm going to see it eventually, so 'fess up."

He looked at me oddly, his face clouding a little. "A very small, very clean hole through the fleshy part of my arm."

My mouth dropped in a mock sad face. "So, no making love in the shower for a few weeks, hmm?"

His frown deepened and I instantly regretted it. I had implied something that was just not mine to imply. The other night was raw lust. To me, it was lust based on something more than mere physical attraction. It was lust for the man himself. But for him...I sighed, feeling lost again. I really could not read him all that well. Sure, he'd been very tender and gentle with me on the plane and okay, we hadn't exactly parted as best buddies a few hours ago...

"Look, I'm sorry I made an idiot of myself yesterday...and I'm sorry I stormed out but I had to get away before I made it worse."

"Crys," he stopped me with a hand on my arm. But it was not the hand of a lover. Oh, hell, we'd hardly finished in the shower when this came down, and ever the gentleman, he had been kind and affectionate under the circumstances.

There had certainly been no promises, real or implied, made. I forced myself to smile and said, "I'd better get going because you'll no doubt be up for hours yet, sorting through the mess of paperwork after the night's work."

Before I had a chance to move, his hand changed pressure, moved up my shoulder and he pulled me gently to face him.

His eyes scanned my face then he leaned down and very thoroughly kissed me. And I do mean thoroughly. His big hands possessively reached down to cup my buttocks and he pulled me closer so that I could feel him growing hard against me. Then he whispered gruffly in my ear, "I might not be able to lift you in the shower, but I can still make love to you with my mouth."

I swallowed very hard. Boy, he'd learned that trick fast.

"And before I spend the rest of the night on reports, I am in dire need of a shower."

* * *

**Day 23 - Sunday**

**Central Hotel, Seattle**

**5:45 a.m.**

They drove the first few blocks in silence. There seemed to be so much to say, so much to apologize for that Scully was uncertain where to begin.

She sighed in frustration. "Mulder."

He glanced at her briefly, but it was all up to her now.

She had seen him with half his face gone. She had seen the Meta. She had been witness to the rapid healing, miracle, call it what you will. And he had heard her torn voice call out to him in despair. Oh, hell, he thought, remembering how he'd felt only a few weeks before, seeing her lying in a pool of blood on his floor, almost frozen in disbelief that she might be dead.

Scully turned and peered closely at his face again. Her hand reached up almost involuntarily to touch the dark mole on his cheek. He flinched, the memory of the unbelievable pain still too close.

"Does it...hurt?" Scully asked him tentatively.

"No, but it turned me off facials for life."

"You...you were conscious?" she asked, wondering if he'd heard her cry of despair.

"In and out."

"Mulder, what...who was that?"

"Ex Navy SEAL Nicholas Page. Now called Nik, or NikKim if you use the proper address. The Kim part of it designates the second half of his mental partner, a Pegasus named Kimral."

"Pegasus..." Scully nodded. Sure. Fine.

"Yeah, light luminous green, winged, you know, your standard flying horse, although I have to admit, somewhat larger than I expected."

"Larger than you expected..." Whatever.

"Well, to be honest, I wasn't exactly expecting him, but he's definitely larger than those in the literature."

Scully muttered something about virgins.

"What? Oh!" He chuckled. "No, you're thinking of unicorns, Scully."

Her bottom lip lifted and she nodded once. Right. Of course.

He tried to suppress a yawn, but lack of sleep, jet lag and coming down from the adrenaline high were finally conspiring against him.

Scully clasped her hands together and looked down "Mulder...I owe you an apology."

He glanced at her, but said nothing. He'd given as much as he could. It really was up to her to meet him on this.

"Is he what you called a...Meta?"

Mulder nodded.

"What did he mean, they needed you?"

"I was a bit surprised, myself. I was given the impression that he wouldn't intervene in...domestic disputes."

"Mulder is he...an angel?"

He chuckled "How many angels do you know who curse like that?"

She closed her eyes in frustration. Damn the man! "You're enjoying this aren't you?"

He grinned at her broadly. "Yeah, yeah I guess I am. But it's not that important anymore, Scully, I told you that."

She turned away so he wouldn't see her face as she battled tears. It no longer mattered to him whether she believed or not. He had ceased caring about her opinion, about her. She was not blind, she'd seen how his body reacted to her confession of desire for him. But it was too late, far too late. He had abandoned her emotionally. And she deserved it. There was no point anymore. But before she left him for good, she owed it to him, to herself, to finally be honest with him.

"It does to me."

He reached across and felt for her hand. Clasping it strongly he said, "We've covered this a hundred times Scully, I just can't see any point going over it again. But maybe now you understand why I have to go on. Nik and those like him fight a greater evil, but that doesn't make the lesser ones unimportant. The X-files are and always will be necessary to fight the sorts of evils that people, humans, can't fight in conventional ways. The director's proposal is a good one because it ensures the continuity of the work. I would be lying if I said I won't miss having you as a partner. I will. But your promotion is a natural progression and will be advantageous to the X-files."

He had accepted her leaving graciously, now he was asking that she do the same. Her eyes became bright and watery as she struggled desperately to tell him what he needed to hear.

Frowning, he turned the last corner to the hotel car park and switched off the engine, then he turned to face her, "Scully, c'mon, it's all over and we can go back and start anew."

All over. Anew. Alone.

She glanced up at the hotel and thought of Crystal. There was nothing to risk anymore. He'd said it was all over.

In a few weeks their partnership would be dissolved, so she could stop being a coward and finally admit to the truth.

She clasped her hands and tried to bury them in her coat, desperately trying to hold on to her dignity.

"I was so wrong, Mulder, God, I was so wrong."

"No you weren't, Scully! You were right to make me question everything. You made me cautious, you saved me more times than I can count! And in...in this new position you'll continue to validate the work!"

"But I never admitted when you were right. I can't believe how conceited that was."

He began to interrupt, but she stopped him. She recalled the first life-saving course she ever took, in high school.

The instructor told them that when you give CPR to someone, they're already dead. What you do, be it effective or not, is not going to make them deader. But you might, just might, give them a second chance at life. To not try because you were frightened was...cowardly.

Their partnership was dead. She could do nothing and leave it at that, or she could stop being a coward and trust him with all that she was, all that she...needed.

She turned her eyes to him and he was almost stunned at the look on her face. He was about to ask what it is was she wanted, but she had already told him that, and as thrilling as that answer had been, as heady and downright erotic as her words were, he still did not understand what she really wanted to do.

"Scully, do you want to head the proposed division?"

Her face twisted in love and regret and a dozen other confused emotions. It was so much like her face in his hallway the previous summer, the desire to kiss her was almost overwhelming. But that, he thought, would confuse an already complicated issue.

"I thought I wanted it Mulder. And a part of me still does. But more than that, I want to stay with you. You've shown me things. I...I've never thanked you for what you've given me in my life,"

He frowned. "Scully all I've ever done is take; your time, your health, your chance for children..."

"No! Mulder just listen to me, please! I gave freely! I joined the FBI knowing the risks, knowing the dangers. For all we know if I hadn't been partnered with you, I might have ended up with...Forenzzi or...Tom Colton...and I would have died when Eugene Tooms broke into my apartment. You can't know that all the bad things that have happened to us, not just to me, but to you, wouldn't have been that much worse if I'd never been partnered with you! Mulder, you gave me a...a way to expand my knowledge in directions I never dreamed of. And I was too much of a coward to admit to you, or myself that the paradigms by which science works _can_ and _should_ be broken. That's how knowledge grows, that's how humanity expands its thinking! And you gave me that and I just couldn't get past my conceit!

"Mulder, I was afraid, afraid to admit so many things. And you've shown me, not just tonight, but two nights ago, in your apartment. You gave me proof, undeniable and I've been too afraid to admit it. And now, it seems now it's too late because you no longer care what I believe."

He looked at her tenderly. "I care, Scully. God, I care more than ...more than I can express. And that's _why,_ although I want you to believe, not at the risk of what you want.

What you need."

"Mulder, what I want, what I need is what you have always given me, your ability to see the world with eyes that aren't blinded by convention. I need you to challenge me. I need you to push me to the furthest limits of my knowledge.

And now I need you to hold my hand when you have finally forced my damned stubborn brain into admitting what you've known all along. Mulder if I have to sit in a lab and supervise a bunch of green agents, I'll go mad, knowing you're out there and finding...something that I want to see just as badly as you! Mulder, don't leave me, don't ditch me like that. I need you."

He was so exhausted, physically and emotionally, he could hardly focus, but he pulled her into his arms and said, "Hey partner, I'm not going to ditch you, at least not like that. But give yourself some time to consider this Scully.

Right now, we're both too damned tired to think straight."

He pulled back from her and touched her forehead with his.

He wanted to kiss her but he knew if he started on that road he wouldn't stop and his body was simply too damned exhausted.

The headlights of another vehicle pulled into the parking lot and they pulled from their embrace and got out. Scully noticed the sky on the horizon seemed to be lighter. She glanced at her watch, it was close to dawn. She looked up again to see Skinner and Crystal exit the newly-arrived vehicle.

"When was the last time you had any sleep, Agent Mulder?"

Skinner asked as he approached the younger man.

Mulder swayed slightly as he stood from locking the car.

"A coupla nights ago. I'm fine, sir. If I can just have an hour or two before the debriefing."

The four of them walked to the front of the hotel as they talked.

"No, Agent Mulder. I've called Busche and the debriefing has been set for 4:00 this afternoon. I've booked our flights back to D.C. at 7:30. It's going to take days to go through the house and catalog the evidence. The local office here can handle the loose ends, so you should get some sleep."

"Sir, I..."

"Agent Mulder, that's an order. Agent Scully, I'm holding you responsible to make sure he carries it out."

They stood together in the foyer. Mulder closed his eyes in resignation, then berated himself immediately as he started to sway again. Scully took him by the arm and pulled him to the stairs. Their rooms were on the second floor. She noticed out of the corner of her eye that the A.D. and Crystal opted for the elevator. Skinner's room was on the fourth floor. Scully was pleased to see them going together.

Scully unlocked his door as he leaned against the wall, then pulling him by the arm, led him in and closed the door behind them.

"Scully, I'm fine, I can do that," he brushed at his partner's hands as she undid his tie.

"You'll be a lot more comfortable if you get those clothes off."

He grinned lazily and opened one eyelid. "You putting moves on me, Agent Scully?"

This time, she let her own grin answer. "How 'bout you get some sleep, Mulder?"

"I'd sleep a whole lot better if you stayed with me." He allowed his hands to gently touch her hips as he breathed in her soft scent.

"Now who's trying to come on to whom?" she replied softly as she pulled his shirt from him. "Just lie down Mulder."

He sighed once and sat back on to the bed. He stayed awake long enough to feel her removing his shoes but after that, he was gone.

Although she had managed considerably more sleep that her partner, Scully was exhausted. She pulled the dark drapes across the window, put the Do Not Disturb sign on his door and returned to her adjoining room. As much as she felt like a shower, she settled for brushing her teeth and changing into pajamas, promising herself a long, luxurious bath in the morning.

She corrected herself, later in the day.

It seemed she'd only been asleep a short while when she felt someone climb into her bed. Knowing immediately it was Mulder, force of habit made her roll over and ask what the hell he thought he was doing. But she stopped herself just in time. She'd given out pretty powerful signals the previous night. He reached sleepily for her hand and immediately fell back to sleep, snoring softly. She smiled, too exhausted to worry anymore.

Some hours later, Scully awoke again. This time however, the sensation was entirely different. She could feel her partner's warm hands move down her shoulders. Very deliberately they reached beneath the bottom of her pajama shirt, then made their way up inside. The movement was slow but very precise, very deliberate, like a blind man feeling the facial features of someone for the first time. Scully was only half aware at first, wondering if this is what had woken her.

As his hands slipped over the soft flesh of her belly, awareness came in full force and she almost jerked away.

But the movements were slow, soft and completely inoffensive. Was he even awake? She wondered. Was he aware that she was awake? He held his hands beneath her breasts, not touching them, just moving them back and forth in a caress.

Scully became aware of his smell. Salty, masculine, the unique healthy, familiar and wholly pleasurable, comforting smell of Mulder. She could feel his breath against her neck. Even, slow...asleep? Not quite, just totally relaxed.

A great deal more relaxed than her. How long since she had been with a man? How long since she had felt warm strength surrounding her? Realistically if she had found herself in this position with any man, her body might have become aroused. But this was Mulder, the feel and smell so familiar to her body, yet never quite in this way before.

This was far more potent than mere sexual arousal.

The slow, exquisite seduction of his hands continued. A thumb reached up between her breasts, rubbing gently against her sternum. He still had made no contact with any of the supposed taboo parts of her body. He had not touched her breasts, not rubbed her thighs with the legs entwined around her body, so this was all right, wasn't it? She could allow him this in the same way she allowed him to touch her hands, or her face.

His head moved slightly and the sensation of his warm breath against her neck increased. She could feel the slight scrape of his chin, the rough sandpaper of two days growth. But it added to her growing heat. The feeling was one of maleness. Maleness holding her close in bed. Mulder maleness.

Her concentration on his breath and feel of his face against her neck distracted from the fact that his thumbs now circled the bottom part of her breasts. No mistake now, he was definitely touching her breasts. She should move, really, but before she could act, his thumbs rotated downward, back onto neutral territory. His hands glided across her rib cage to the sides. And his thumbs began again to massage the soft, sensitive skin under her arms.

Beside her breasts. On her breasts yes? No? Where do breasts begin and chest end? She should know, she was a doctor.

Without warning, his hands gently but surely rotated in and up, cupping her breasts fully, one in each hand. He captured her nipples between the sensitive skin of his thumb then massaged each breast firmly, fully, possessing them. There was nothing hesitant or uncertain in his movements. He touched her with complete confidence, he was taking of her womaness, of those features which made her uniquely feminine. The intense heat of desire filled her body and she gasped softly in pleasure. But his movements seemed oddly unerotic, almost like a boy cuddling a beloved soft toy.

But this was no boy. This was a man full grown with the desires and passions of a man. She reminded herself of that quickly. This was no game. She had given him tacit permission to do this, so why was she afraid? Because this was Mulder and intimacy with him was filled with a depth of meaning far more intense than any lover she had ever known.

Yet his movements remained so slow, so gentle, prerogative, but undemanding.

Scully turned her head to seek his eyes. Was he even awake?

She was shocked to see him watching her through drowsy, hooded eyes, watching her eyes then looking down at the movements of his hands under her pajama shirt. His face seemed oddly expressionless, still asleep on some level. No embarrassment, as if he had every right to touch her like this.

And he did. Scully was only surprised at his sure confidence, at the ease with which he held her. Then it hit her. She had assumed he had not been with a woman, save perhaps, although it seemed unlikely, Phoebe, since she'd known him. But that did not mean he was not an experienced and seductive lover. A wave of anticipatory pleasure passed through her body as she realized he would be as passionate and focused and thorough in bed as with everything he did.

Her only concern now was what might interrupt them. A bee that led to a Sunday stroll across the Antarctic wastelands? Or a visit from Skinner telling Mulder he must give up his sanity?

What this time?

They would laugh about it later, but at the time it seemed oddly quixotic. One minute she was contemplating what a sure and sensitive lover he would be when his hands slipped down and...stopped. Scully glanced up at him and almost gaped in surprise. He had fallen asleep!

A half-hour later she lay comfortably buried in a warm, frothy layer of bubbles. It surprised her to find she'd woken close to 2:00 p.m. They had slept almost eight hours and Mulder still lay softly snoring in her bed. She would get out of her bath soon, pack, then wake him at three.

That would give him an hour to shower and change and grab something to eat before the debriefing. Then there would be the long flight to D.C. and they could talk, really talk and decide between them exactly what the future held. For them, for the X-files.

"Any room in there for me, Agent Scully?"

Her eyes shot open and she slid lower into the water, realizing her breasts were partially exposed. Considering what his hands had been doing an hour before, it seemed a ridiculously prudish gesture.

"Mulder!"

How long had he been standing there? He leaned against the doorway with folded arms and a familiar cocky grin. His hair stuck out at odd angles and his trousers and undershirt looked understandably crumpled and slept in.

"Yes, Agent Scully?" He casually walked to the tub.

Scully's heart raced, wondering what in hell he was about to do, but his movements gave it away. Her eyes rounded as he pulled off his shirt and unzipped his trousers, his intent clear. As her eyes found his again, she realized that nothing, absolutely nothing was going to stop him now.

His eyes told her that he already knew her as a lover, had known her for years. What they were about to do was little more than a physical consummation of something long since held between them.

The door to Scully's room resounded with a knock.

He stared at his partner in disbelief. This couldn't be happening, really.

Shit, if he ignored it they'd go away. But one hand on his zip, he heard the knock again, followed by the sound of the lock unlatching. His nostrils flared in anger and he about faced, closing the bathroom door behind him. He zipped his trousers and reached the door just as it opened.

"Agent Mulder?" Skinner's eyes glanced around. "Did I wake you?"

"No, sir, I was just about to take a shower."

"Good, the briefing's been brought forward half an hour."

"Okay."

He rubbed his hands over his face and his stomach rumbled loudly enough for Skinner to hear.

"I'll have room service bring you up some lunch. Is Agent Scully awake yet?"

Mulder nodded and walked back into the room, expecting Skinner to follow.

"That's okay, Mulder, I won't detain you. I just wanted to personally thank both of you for expediting this case. The quick turn around on this one..."

Mulder nodded in understanding. "How's the arm, sir?"

"Fine. I'll see you in an hour and a half."

Mulder nodded and closed the door, then resignedly headed for the shower in his room.

But first, he had a phone call to make. And his instructions were very particular.


	17. Chapter 17

**Day 24 - Monday**

**Washington, D.C.**

**3:45 a.m.**

He pulled his car into the entrance of the hotel, winked at his partner and stepping out, handed the keys to the parking valet. Scully repeatedly asked him where they were going, but he declined to answer.

She slowly stepped out of the car as he pulled their overnight bags from the trunk and motioned with his head to follow.

Scully was scowling now. What on earth was Mulder doing?

She followed him through the plush foyer to the reception desk.

"You have a reservation for George Hale."

"Ah...yes Mr. Hale, Room 403...and you also required..."

Mulder interrupted. "That will be fine, thank you."

The concierge nodded. "How would you be paying for that Mr.

Hale?"

Mulder produced his credit card.

Scully whispered, "Mulder, what's going on?"

The concierge took the credit card and noted the difference to the registered name. Using a false name was one thing, but such clients invariably paid cash. Given the previous two fraudulent credit card transactions had been on his shift, he wasn't taking any chances.

"Sir...I'm very sorry but I will need some further identification, a drivers license perhaps?"

Mulder, in no mood to play games, pulled out his FBI ID.

"Eh...thank you...Mr. Hale." A grin tugged the corner of his mouth. Considering the room service order he couldn't understand the man's cavalier use of his FBI ID.

Neither could Scully, although her partner's intent was now obvious and her lips also curled at the edges. "Mulder, if you wanted to keep this quiet."

"Scully," he said as he filled in the registration form, "I am sick of interruptions. For eight months I've put up with fucking bees, long clawed aliens, mutants, the OPR, global conspiracies, one of us getting shot, knifed, or otherwise wounded. Skinner, who by the way gave us tomorrow off, barging in the front door and goddamned serial killers. With my luck, we'd get home and find that blacklunged son of a bitch tossing my place, or your brother waiting at yours. I don't give a damn if the entire FBI knows about this...but I will _not_ be interrupted for the next thirty-six hours or I _am_ going to use my gun, despite the fucking paperwork. Do I make myself clear?"

He directed the last to the concierge who blinked, nodded and noted 'hold all calls' against the room extension.

Scully glanced nervously at Mulder's no-nonsense expression. He pulled her to him and reached into her inside coat pocket. Her eyebrows came together in consternation, surely he wouldn't...But he simply pulled out her cell phone, turned it off and placed it back in her pocket. Then, shaking his head at a porter, grabbed their bags in one hand, picked up the key card in the other and motioned Scully to the elevator.

Scully pulled her lips together in a nervous smile at the concierge and followed her partner. She had always admired Mulder's self-confidence and unerring focus in the face of opposition. And any thoughts she may have entertained about him being a little shy or bumbling had been abandoned when she'd woken in his exploring hands the previous afternoon.

So that just left her to deal with her own shy nervousness.

And Agent Scully, M.D. was neither shy nor nervous.

So...that just left her to deal with Dana Scully, who was currently dealing with a very severe case of butterflies.

Jesus, what exactly had she gotten herself into?

The elevator doors were about to close, but he stopped them just in time. Scully hurried to catch up. As the doors closed he leered at her and whispered, "Home free."

His trousers were becoming uncomfortable in anticipation and he was tempted to drop the bags and grab her right then and there, but the ride was short. The doors opened and his face froze in panic.

No. Fucking. Way.

"Bill!" The word fell from Scully's mouth in disbelief.

Fortunately, Scully thought, Mulder's panic look was so bland only she recognized it.

"Dana? Dana!" Bill grinned widely at the sight if his sister. His selective visual perception took a few moments to identify the man standing by her side.

"Bill what are you doing here? At this time of night?"

"I got in an hour ago from San Diego. You know what's its like on those damned flights, I was about to go down for an early breakfast, then a 5:30 a.m. with Admiral Hughs.

Mulder stared unblinking, softly muttering the word 'gun' like a mantric chant. Scully realized how much danger her brother was in, especially when the volume of Mulder's chant increased sufficiently for Bill to hear.

"Gun?" Bill glanced at him, wondering what the crazy son of a bitch was going on about. What the hell were they doing there, anyway?

Scully's impressive logicing abilities finally kicked in and she pulled her own weapon. Frowning at her brother, she said quietly, "Sorry Bill, on a case, can't talk now. Call you later."

Bill wasn't born yesterday and he looked at the bags Mulder was carrying. He recognized one of them as Dana's.

And Mulder had a key card in the other hand. He didn't realize these were the only two items between him and Mulder's weapon.

Scully scowled at her brother's disbelieving look. "Bill, get out of the way, you are interfering with a stakeout. I told you, I'll call you later, tomorrow. Maybe."

Except for a BB gun when they were kids, Bill had never seen his little sister with a weapon in her hand. It confused him. Sure, he knew she was FBI and her asshole of a partner was always getting her into trouble, but for her to actually use a gun seemed...well...it just wasn't Dana.

His voice dropped to meet Dana's whisper, "What are you doing?"

Mulder, whom he'd always taken for a weak-minded idiot, looked dangerously ready to kill someone. What the hell was going on?

"Bill," Scully hissed "I am a federal agent, if you don't get out of the way I'll have you arrested for obstruction of justice, now move your butt before you get your stupid self hurt!"

That finally woke him up. He stepped aside to allow the agents out of the elevator. Mulder strode purposefully down the hall while Scully looked back at her brother. She shooed him onto the elevator and put a finger to her lips, her eyes ordering him to say absolutely nothing to anyone.

Bill hesitated. Maybe he should stick around and see if Dana needed some help. It was not like that sorry excuse for a partner of hers would look out for her. But the look on Scully's face made him reconsider. All right, he'd check with the concierge after meeting with Hughs.

Mulder had meanwhile opened the door to their room, muttering, "Of all the fucking hotels in D.C. ..." He carried the bags inside and turned to face his partner, a concentrated look on his face. Scully closed the door behind her then turned to examine the delicious array on the room service cart near the door. She smiled broadly and lifted the bottle of champagne from the ice.

Mulder came up behind her and reached around to take the bottle from her hands. "Fast thinking, Dr. Watson."

Scully chuckled "Well, I couldn't let you shoot my brother, even if he is a..."

"Moron?"

She didn't reply, too aware of his closeness, the way he grappled with her hands for the champagne bottle. It reminded her of their grappling with the baseball bat. She turned to grin up at him but instead of making some uniquely Mulderesque wisecrack, he brought his lips to her jaw line and tenderly nuzzled her.

His tongue teased her as his kisses progressed down her jaw and along her neck. She dropped the champagne back in the bucket and went to turn in his arms, but he held her in place, holding her hips with his hands. But this time there were no hips before hands mantra, only warm soft kisses and lips and tongue and warm breath and slight scrape of his beard and the sound of his soft murmur and smell of his cologne and oh, God, it was exquisite! She closed her eyes and laid her head back on his chest, exposing her neck to his mouth. Her uncertainties were washed away in the face of his gentle, determined onslaught.

He brought his arms up, eased her coat and jacket from her shoulders and tossed them across a nearby chair. Still without turning her he unzipped her skirt and allowed it to pool at her feet. She remained oblivious to the mechanics of his undressing until he'd undone the buttons of her blouse and had it halfway off her shoulders.

"Mulder..."

He moved around to face her and finally kissed her mouth.

She had expected a passionate, open-mouthed kiss, not the series of tortuous, small caresses with his lips. His tongue tip teased her lower lip, arcing delicately between her lips as she moaned in anticipation. Finally, divested of her blouse and bra, he pulled her closer so that she might feel his arousal. He finally covered her mouth and opened his lips to receive her questing tongue. Groaning aloud, she lost all sense of reason and plunged in her tongue in an uncontrolled need to reach him. She had needed and wanted him for so long, needed his strength and his passion and all that he was. More than making love to him, she had wondered what it would be like to kiss him, to feel him this way, to explore all the sensitive areas of his mouth, his palate and his soft, firm tongue, to taste the essence of Mulder and know him, and thus herself. And it was so real, so alive, so encompassing that when he finally arced his tongue into her, she wondered if it was possible to come just from being kissed.

Scully was completely unaware that she was trying to stand on her toes, trying to grind her hips against him, to feel him at the core of her arousal. He was too tall. But oh, God, his hardness still felt so good. Since when did her belly become an erogenous zone?

Scully gasped as he pulled away from her. His hands had already come around to her breasts, encompassing them, enfolding and possessing them. Then his mouth replaced them, teasing her nipples and the exquisitely sensitive area under her breasts. She was hardly aware that his hands had grasped her half slip, panty hose and panties all at once, and already peeled them from her hips, until his mouth moved still lower, tickling her newly-exposed belly.

Lower, his hands pulled the last of her clothes down to her ankles. He distracted her by using his mouth and tongue to explore every inch of stomach. She felt him find and bring her hand to his head, then tug at one foot. She used his head to balance herself as she allowed him to lift first one foot, then the other. Somewhere in her peripheral awareness, it stuck her that she was now completely naked.

But then time stopped and pooled and exploded as his tongue unerringly reached between her legs, parted her lips then burrowed inside.

Mulder gently leaned her against the door. As cold as it was against her back she was pitifully grateful for the support. His large sensitive fingers held her by the hips as his mouth did things she had only dreamed of. Jack had done this, as had other lovers...but oh, God, not like _this_. They had done it as a service, a grudging extra special gee if you're really nice Dana, little present.

Some part of her brain was still functioning because she recalled Mulder's words; that what he was doing was, in a healthy, mutually loving relationship, a reward unto itself, the giver being sexually gratified by the control of pleasure he had over her.

Good grief, did he have any idea how _much_ control?

Oh, yeah. He did, because at that moment he pulled his tongue up through her lips and swirled the tip around her engorged clitoris, driving her right over the edge.

Scully knew she grasped his head, because she could feel his soft hair in her hands. And she knew her feet must still touch the floor, otherwise she would be falling down.

But that's all she knew as the intense orgasm racked her body, sending waves of sharp heat down to her toes. His hands held her upright, while his mouth stilled over her.

As the shudders racked her, he knew that to continue would be painfully over-stimulating, yet he was reluctant to leave the feel and smell and taste of Scully in that most beautiful part of her body.

When her hands finally released his hair, he stood, wrapped his arms around her and kissed her mouth. The taste of herself on his tongue was something she had never experienced before. Not with Jack, not with anyone and she jerked back, some part of her Catholic upbringing kicking in.

"Taste yourself, Scully," Mulder whispered as he ran his hands through her hair. "It's sweet, like honey, the most beautiful taste in the world."

Medically, she knew why, the natural sugars to sustain and nourish sperm. But the reality of it stunned her, for some part of her mind presumed it would be salty, bitter like a man. But he was right and he filled her with her sweet taste until she came back down to reality.

Mulder pulled back and stared down at her, a huge, carefree grin on his face. " _Now_ , we can open the champagne, Agent Scully."

Indulging himself in a further fantasy, he picked her small form up in his arms and carried her to the bed.

"Mulder!" she giggled.

Yep, Scully giggled. He wasn't sure if she could actually do that but yep, folks, it was official -- Agent Scully giggles!

Scully wrapped her arms around his neck, fearful he might drop her, but he just grinned and deposited her gently on the bed. He stood and let his eyes run down the length of her body, absorbing the sight with his eidetic memory.

She squirmed beneath his concentrated gaze and tried to alleviate her sudden shyness with humor. "Mulder, did you just do something illegal?"

He grinned mischievously. "You didn't do your homework, did you, Agent Scully?"

"Well?"

"Nuh uh, not telling, wouldn't want to take the fun out of it!"

He turned back to the champagne and deftly removed the wire. Pulling the glasses together, he popped the cork and captured the erupting bubbles in them.

Scully pulled back the bed covers and started to climb under but returning to the bed with glasses in hand, he stopped her.

"I want to see you."

She looked into his eyes and was stunned at the depth of desire in them. His forehead shone with a light dusting of perspiration and she suddenly realized the ambient room temperature was, relative to the hallway, warm. Someone had set the room heating prior to their arrival.

Scully blinked then frowned as she stared up at him "Mulder! You're still fully clothed!

The eroticism of what he had just done hit her, arousing her once more. He had deftly stripped her and made love to her with his mouth without so much as removing his overcoat.

"Don't you think it's time you took at least some of your clothes off, Mulder? I can't see us moving forward on this until you at least lose the overcoat and tie."

He laughed, a real laugh with flashing white teeth. Had she ever seen that laugh before? It pulled at her heart and she reached for his hand to pull him to her. But he tugged it away. Lazily blinking, he pulled his lower lip into his mouth then slowly tugged off his overcoat. His eyes never left hers as she watched him slowly strip down to his boxers. It surprised her how erotic it was to watch him carefully undress. But to her dismay, he left his shorts on.

"Mulder!" she whined softly.

He looked at her more seriously now, as aroused as she by the way her eyes captured his body. It made absolutely no difference to him that she had seen him naked before. This was different, entirely different. And her eyes and the way her delicate tongue slowly licked her lower lip were close to undoing him.

"Not yet, Scully. I'm still hungry."

Mulder pulled the cart to him and picked up the plate of sliced strawberries and honeydew. He sat at the edge of the bed and ran one finger from her lips, down her chin and throat, between her breasts and down across her stomach to the soft burgundy hair between her legs. Then he picked up the strawberry and honeydew slices and laid them along the line his finger had just traced.

Scully lay back against the pillows, fascinated by his absolute concentration as each slice was fitted perfectly with the previous. But she was also hungry, for the sight and feel of him. She lifted her left hand and traced it across his knee. Her fingers moved inside his thigh in everincreasing forays closer to the bulge that jerked fascinatingly as her fingernails dipped and teased. She remembered the soft, silky feel of him in her hands and now she wanted, desperately needed to see and touch it, to touch Mulder in this way. The context of the last occasion meant nothing to her, all her aroused brain could recall was how good he'd felt in her hands. Her fingertips tingled with anticipation. But as her nails finally feathered across him, he gasped and gently pushed her hand aside.

"Mulder..?"

"Not yet, Scully."

"Please?" God did he mean to drive her insane?

He looked at her sheepishly, then pulled the bowl from behind him. Her eyes moved to see what this was and she giggled again as he scooped out spoonfuls of thick white cream and ladled them across the fruit. With a final extra large scoop dropped onto the last piece, he brought the spoon back up and spread yet more thick cream across her nipples. He turned and grinned at her, planting half a strawberry on top of each whitened nipple. He sat back to admire his handiwork.

"Mulder," Scully warned threateningly, "exactly what...?"

He stopped her with a mouth full of the rich sweet cream, topped with a small, perfect strawberry. As she grinned and chewed on his offering he leaned across and licked the cream and fruit from her right nipple. His portion was smaller, so he made sure that nipple was well and truly cleaned before moving back to the left one and taking another mouth full.

Scully, understanding the game now, opened her mouth and flicked her tongue, begging for more. She noticed the bulge in his shorts jerked a response. He filled the spoon again, this time with cream and honeydew. He eased it between her lips. She sucked hard, refusing to let his fingers pull it from her mouth. Her eyes rested on his groin as she sucked, her intent clear.

He had started this game because he knew damned well he wouldn't last five minutes if he exposed himself to her.

Not those big blue eyes staring at his cock while she licked her lips and teased him with the sight of her tongue. And heaven forbid that her hands would stroke him.

Sixty seconds, tops, was the best he could hope for. But damn her if she was going to sit back and let him enjoy his little delaying tactic. She had to participate, and it might yet be his undoing.

"Scully, when did you start studying oriental lovemaking?"

She arched her eyebrow at him, but this time it failed to have the usual effect. "I'm not the one with the food fetish."

He quieted her with another spoonful as he thoroughly divested her neck and the line between her breasts, of fruit and cream.

"There are certain works," he explained as he refilled the spoon, "that describe, in great detail, how to bring your lover to orgasm with just a look."

He plunged the spoon back into her mouth before she could reply, then tongued down her sternum and stomach, savoring the rich fruit and cream and taste of Scully.

She had thought him in control, yet his words gave her warning. His slow, erotic food play was a distraction from an arousal that was literally on the brink. She grinned delightedly. He might not keep it together very much longer. This compensation before the fact was the most sensual gift of love making she had ever experienced. Few men realized that staying power was not what made them good lovers. But Mulder knew...

"And here I thought you were just hungry," she replied before swallowing.

"Don't talk with your mouth full, Scully." And the spoon, now piled high with extra cream and fruit, plunged back into her mouth moments before his lips plunged into the soft hair between her legs, licking and swallowing the fruity cream. His tongue arched around the inside of her thighs and sought the deeper folds where her legs joined her body. He kept up his exploration as he eased himself completely on to the bed and kneeled between her calves.

Then he gently lifted each of her legs across his shoulders and plunged his tongue into her depths, far deeper this time than he had been able as she stood against the door.

She gasped, trying to concentrate long enough to swallow the fruit. "Mudnah...ah, God, are you trying to choke me?"

But his only answer was to lift his mouth to the delicate bud above her lips as his hand reached blindly for the bowl of cream. She watches him scoop the thick whiteness onto his fingers and reaching gently between her legs, spread her lips and push the cream deep inside her.

"Jesus Mulder I thought you weren't a Freudian!" she managed to gasp out as the evoked imagery shattered most of her remaining self control.

"I'm not, Agent Scully, but creaming vaginas wasn't exactly Jung's forte."

That did it. Or maybe it was the second double finger full of cold cream in heady contrast to his hot tongue. Whatever.

Scully arched her back and clawed at his shoulders as she came a second time, if possible, more deeply, more satisfyingly that the first wild relief from seven years of longing.

As his head came up to grin wildly at his partner, she grasped him with unexpected strength and sat up. She forced him on his back and his eyebrows lifted in shock. How could she manage such strength so soon? He didn't realize that she was not yet sated and for that, she needed, absolutely must have him to see, to feel and to taste.

Scully ripped his shorts down, groaning in frustration as they caught first on his erection, then knees, then his ankles. Finally she threw her left leg across his and looked down in satisfaction.

All for me...Her eyes glinted in frightening anticipation.

If he weren't so turned on he'd be fucking terrified.

"Scully..." Mulder warned "This is going to embarrass the hell out of me in about ten seconds..."

"Shut up Mulder."

She licked her lips as her eyes absorbed every inch of him. Beautifully formed, beautiful with that lovely long ridge disappearing under the hood of his glans, already tipped with a wet jewel. It jerked spasmodically as her fingers reached for him. She literally ached to take him in her hands.

Mulder groaned "Scully...no..!"

But she ignored him and positioned herself close, knowing that if he did lose control, she had mere seconds to get him inside of her before it was too late. She ran her fingers up his length. So soft, so hard and silky and hot and she just couldn't resist squeezing and arcing her tongue out and staring into his glazed eyes and watching his face contort in exquisite agony as her other hand cupped his balls and one finger reached beneath to press in and he couldn't close his eyes as he came and came in hot eruption all over her chest, all the while calling her name.

She reacted instantly, lifting then lowering herself and enveloping him inside of her before his shudders ceased and his erection diminished. Freed from inhibitions she thought she had, she grabbed his hand and held his thumb against her clitoris as she rode him quickly and brought herself to yet another, final orgasm.

Scully woke some hours later, wondering how it was possible that she could be aroused so soon. She had gone years without a man coming near her and months without touching herself.

She smiled as she recalled their bath together. Slick soap, warm hands, gentle, affectionate kisses and the shy happy smiles of new lovers. Then soft towels and cuddling in bed together. Mulder made certain the *do not disturb* sign was hung on the door and the drapes closed to keep out the impending daylight. So they slept, peacefully and soundlessly, undisturbed by dreams or nightmares.

Scully allowed the sleep to fall from her, wondering vaguely what time it was. She looked around and risked climbing out of bed long enough to use the bathroom and brush her teeth. Again, they had slept eight straight hours. If they kept this up they might begin to think of themselves as normal. She smiled in sheer pleasure at the tousle-haired form of her partner. Her heart moved and a moment of fear crossed her face as she remembered the sight of him on the floor, surrounded by blood. But then she recalled the tall, blue alien. Perhaps not an angel, but something far greater to her, as he gave life to this very special man. Part of her fear of loving him had been mixed with her fear of loss, as she had lost so many friends over the years of constant moving. But Nik had washed that fear from her. For he had promised her, deep in her heart, that one day, if she lost Mulder to one of the hideous monsters they chased, he would take Mulder in his arms to a richer place. And one day, soon, she would be allowed to follow and find him there. And together they would fight a greater evil.

What they had now, at this moment in time, would not last.

Soon, they must return to their real world and there would be no strawberries and whipped cream and champagne except perhaps in rare moments.

Scully pushed the thought aside. They had one such moment now and now was all that mattered. She climbed back into bed.

Mulder rolled on to his back. She eased the covers from him and stared with absolute pleasure at his naked form. It was too much, far too much to resist so she lowered her mouth to him and gently sucked him deep inside.

An evil delight filled her. Could she get away with this while he slept?

She gently ran her hands down the inside of his legs, tickling the sensitive flesh behind his knees. He groaned softly and spread his legs wider. She grinned and settled between them, keeping her mouth around him as he slowly grew, filled then overflowed her. She lightly grasped his scrotum and he squirmed and muttered, tossing his head across the pillow. She was torn between wanting it to last and wanting him to remain asleep, thinking it was just a dream. After weeks of nightmares he deserved one truly good dream.

Slowly, carefully, she licked and suckled, kissed and cajoled. Each time he seemed close to waking she stopped, allowing his erection to diminish so she could take him completely into her mouth once more. It was the very fact that his erection waxed and waned so quickly that convinced her he still slept. That and the odd way he tossed his head, grunted and moaned and loosely grasped the sheets.

She indulged herself for a full ten minutes before deciding to bring the game to an end. He had muttered her name numerous times, sending a wave of pleasure through her body, causing her to wonder how many times in the past she had been in his dreams. Finally, she tasted a drop of the salty, bitter essence that announced his imminent ejaculation. She brought her hands into play, stroking him upwards in firm, measured movements, in counterpoint to the downward pressure exerted by her other hand at the base of his testicles.

Her tongue swirled around his head, then she sucked firmly and was rewarded with the flood of warmth in her mouth and a guttural call of her name. Although she had never been exactly fond of the taste, that it was Mulder gave it a whole new meaning.

The force of his orgasm jerked him awake and he arched up and balanced on his hands. He looked down in wide eyed wonder at what had to be the most amazing...he wasn't prepared to use the usual terms because it was far too sensuous and loving for such crudities...amazing...Jesus, amazing Scully job, he'd ever experienced. It put Phoebe's extraordinarily practiced renditions to shame.

"Fuck, Scully...I was asleep!" he whined.

She blinked, then stared unflinchingly into his eyes as she swallowed, then lifted her lips from his slackening penis and wiped away the residue with her tongue.

"Jesus, you let me _sleep_ through that!" He swallowed convulsively, realizing she was studiously cleaning him.

Good God, no woman had ever done that to him. The normal reaction was to judiciously get rid of it as fast and as inoffensively as possible. That she would accept him so completely left him in awe.

She grinned as she climbed back up the bed, pulling the covers over them.

"Pleasant dreams, Agent Mulder?"

"Good God, Scully, next time you're gonna do that, wake me so I can at least watch!" He grinned in delight as she snuggled into his arms and wrapped one leg over his body.

He could feel the dampness as her pubic hair scratched against his hip.

"You just looked so positively...suckable, Mulder, I couldn't resist."

His body still tingled and he wished, not for the first time, that men had a better deal when it came to the quick comeback. But although his body was sated, his desire was not.

"You're wet, Scully," he announced gruffly.

"Mm," she arched against him, rubbing herself on his hip, "You called for me in your sleep."

"Wouldn't be the first time you've given me a wet dream."

A thrill of pleasure arced through her, "Oh, really? When did you start having this problem, Agent Mulder."

He nuzzled her hair, hoping her lazy, rhythmic movements against his hips might be encouraged with a little oral sex of a different kind. Scully was full of unexpected surprises, perhaps this would be another.

"The night you offered me root beer instead of iced tea."

That jarred her. That long?

"But that was..."

"Yeah," whispered in her ear. "And do you know how many times I've come in my shorts sleeping in adjoining hotel rooms with you? Those moans you heard weren't always nightmares."

She gulped. She couldn't reply but her rhythm became more insistent.

"And what about you, Agent Scully, how many times have you run those little fingers down inside yourself to make yourself come?"

God, was he really talking to her like this?

Was she really reacting this way? She gulped again at her own brazenness.

"I'd like to see that, Scully. I'd like to see what you did to yourself the night we played baseball. Did you think about me?"

That jerked her eyes up to his and he smirked. She nodded slowly, no longer able to hide any truth from him.

"And what about the other times, Agent Scully, in the bathtub while I was finishing up a report in your hotel room? How many of those times were you thinking about me?"

She jerked up and stared at him wild-eyed and flushing in embarrassment. "How did you know?"

He burst out laughing. "I wasn't too sure, but I had a fair idea that your sudden change in temperament wasn't simply due to hot water and bubbles. God, I was tempted a dozen times to come in and see for myself. Although I admit I put my ear to the door once or twice."

"You what?!"

Oh, this was too good! "C'mon Scully, I'm a guy, what'd you expect?" He pulled her back into his arms and added, "Now let me see, for real."

His eyes captured hers and she flushed and turned away, "I...I don't know if I can."

"Then use me, use my hand," he whispered to her softly, reaching his right hand between her legs, but letting his fingers remain idle, wanting her to show him what she liked "Teach me, Scully, teach me how you like it...please..."

Somehow, it was easier using his hand. She brushed her fingers over his and pushed them lower, arching her body into his. He pulled his head back to watch her fingers push him against her, rubbing herself with his hand, pleasuring herself with him. She reached for his left hand and tried to push those fingers inside her while she urged his right fingers to play across her clitoris, but he grasped her wrist and pushed hers in instead. He gasped at the sheer erotic pleasure of the sight and amazingly, felt himself grow hard as her fingers plunged in rhythmically. She was lost now, sighing his name over and over as her fingers moved in and out while her other hand ground his thumb against the small knot of nerves.

He couldn't help himself, seeing her, feeling her like that, he took hold of himself in his free hand and said "Open your eyes, Scully."

She complied, looking at his face. His eyes flicked down to what he was doing, at the firm, slow movements of his hand on himself. Her eyes followed and widened at the sight.

"Oh, God Mulder, you are so beautiful..." She called him over and over and came jerkily, pushing her hand against his over and over.

When she stopped, he rolled over onto her and slowly entered her. At no time had he considered a condom. Scully couldn't get pregnant and they were both clean, except maybe for one or two too many alien viral infections. He closed his eyes for a moment in the sheer joy of feeling her surround him. And this time, he managed to outlast her slow, soft second orgasm.

Although she was wet, she was also tight. Wonderful for him, but he feared he might cause some soreness if he took too long about it. He let himself go soon after, a small, soft orgasm, promising her with whispers that when they became used to each other, he would take longer.

"I know, Mulder. I love you, God, I love you."

"I know. And Scully and I wasn't drugged, I do love you."

Downstairs a very frustrated Bill Scully tried to convince the concierge that his sister was in a room somewhere in the fourth floor. He just hadn't gotten the number.

"What name, sir?"

"Scully, Dana Scully."

"Sorry sir, no one with that name."

Bill was no fool, "Okay, what about Mulder, Fox Mulder?

They're FBI agents, they may be registered under different names, but they are definitely on the fourth floor. I spoke to them myself early this morning.

This was the young concierge's first day as duty manager.

He had just taken over an hour before and was rather excited by the prospect of FBI agents undercover in the hotel. This Navy Captain in front of him seemed genuine enough and he was, after all, a guest. He checked through the records and found that one George Hale had paid with a Visa card in the name of Fox Mulder.

"Ah, here it is, one room only under the name of Hale. Do you want me to call them? Oh wait, there's a hold all incoming calls against the room. I'm sorry sir."

"That's all right," Bill smiled congenially, having glimpsed the room number "I'll catch up with them after lunch."

He walked across to the elevator and punched in the fourth floor. His own room was right next door, surely it wouldn't cause a problem if he just knocked.

He hesitated at the do not disturb sign, but damn it, he was only in town until tonight and how often did he get to see his little sister?

Mulder could just suck it and wear it.

He tapped softly on the door.

"Mm, 's probably room service." Mulder mumbled into her ear.

"What did you order?" Scully replied.

"Fresh crawfish, salad, trout, a very tart little white wine...oh and a coupla dozen oysters..."

He stood, wrapped a towel around himself and grabbed his pants on the way, feeling in the pocket for loose bills.

Scully was feeling far too fucked silly to get out of bed.

Besides, Mulder could pay off the bellboy and bring the cart in himself. She rolled over, pulling the sheet between her legs, but left her hips and breasts bare.

"Mulder, there is no scientific evidence to indicate oysters are an aphrodisiac. Besides, we don't need no afrodesiak!"

Meanwhile, Mulder had opened the door without looking up, fumbling inside his pockets for the small bills he was sure he'd left there. "Just leave it and I'll take it inside..." he glanced up as his fingers located the money.

Bill Mulder stood in stunned horror at the apparition before him. Mulder's hair stood out in every direction and he sported a couple of pronounced hickeys on his neck -- and lower down. And he smelled. Of sex. But it got worse, far worse. Before Mulder could stop him, Bill had pushed the door aside and was met with the sight of his little sister lying naked on the bed, muttering something about not needing aphrodisiacs.

Instinct and ingrained hatred took control of good sense and he let fly with his fist, "You bastard!"

Fortunately for Bill Scully, both his aim and his strength were severely affected by his loss of temper. He was not to appreciate that fact though, for another few minutes.

Mulder had the good sense to simply roll with the punch after it struck him a glancing blow to the head.

Unfortunately, the loose towel around his waist became disconnected from his body as he hit the floor and rolled on to his back. The sight of a naked Mulder, and the offending penis staring him square between the eyes, incited Bill Scully to launch another screaming assault.

But he was stopped short by the terrifying sight of a gun barrel about a foot from his face.

"FBI! Don't move or I'll blow your fucking head off!"

Mulder blinked up at the bare ass standing straddled over him. He grinned, not sure what he enjoyed about this situation the most. It was a definite toss up, but it was most certainly the high point of his sorry son of a bitch life. A butt naked Scully standing over him, the same butt naked Scully defending his manhood -- literally -- and the look of absolute shock and fear on Bill Scully's face.

Scully frowned in surprise and sudden recognition.

"Bill?"

"Ah...uh, Dana!" But when Bill realized she had pulled the gun on someone she thought was an intruder, his stance turned aggressive again "Dana what...what are you doing?"

"What does it look like?" Scully was totally unfazed by her nakedness. When she'd seen Mulder knocked into the room, her automatic reaction had been to go for Mulder's weapon on the bedside table. They may have been horny as teenagers, but they weren't stupid.

"What does it look like I'm doing? I _was_ enjoying the best goddamned fucking lay of my life until you burst in here like the fifth cavalry."

Mulder's grin widened. Best lay of her life, huh? Suck on that and wear it, big brother.

"Dana! Put...put the gun away, will you?" Bill squeaked, shocked to the core by her language and her total lack of modesty.

"Not on your life," and she sighted along her weapon, clearly intending to shoot.

Mulder's eyebrows lifted.

Bill paled and his eyes dropped to Mulder's, disgust at the sight of him mixed with a pleading look. Mulder couldn't stop grinning, but he managed to frown and shake his head at the same time.

"I'd back off if I were you, Bill. I've seen her kill men for less," well, that wasn't quite true. "Fact is the last guy...uh, the last _two_ guys who attacked me are sharing adjoining suites in the Seattle morgue, care of your _little_ sister."

Bill tried a nervous laugh, but stopped abruptly when Scully nodded her agreement.

"Now, back off!" Scully growled.

Bill Scully blinked in total confusion. This didn't make any sense! Dana should be the one scrambling for clothes and explaining herself. He moved to step towards her.

"I'm warning you, Bill, I _will_ shoot."

"Dana, I'm you're brother! For God's sake put the gun down!"

"You might look like my brother, but you may not be him.

We've been fooled before by shape-shifting aliens. And if it is you, do you realize what the penalty for assaulting a federal agent is, Bill?"

"It's okay, Scully, I wouldn't press charges." Mulder commented, trying to calm everyone down.

"Yeah, but I might, how's your head?"

"It's fine, Scully."

As much as he was really enjoying the view, he decided to back up and get Scully's gun. She had a point.

"Not that head, the other one."

Mulder glanced down at himself, wondering if he had sustained an as yet unrealized injury. "Looks okay."

"As long as it _feels_ okay because if anything interferes with what I've got planned later this afternoon I am going to be even more pissed than I am now!"

Mulder was fascinated by the chameleon changes to Bill Scully's face. In truth, his own eyebrows lifted and he almost blushed at this heretofore unrealized side of Scully. Bill's face changed from deathly white to embarrassed rose to the mottled red of anger then back again to white as his emotions warred.

A knock on the door broke the deadlock.

All three of then asked, in varying pitches, "Who is it?"

"Room service."

Mulder held up his finger as his eyebrows lifted. "Ah!" He grabbed a couple of bills from the floor, wrapped the towel back around his waist and headed for the partly-opened door. He paid off the bellboy in short order, told him to wait, then pushed the food cart inside, retrieved the previous cart with the up-ended champagne bottle and strawberry husks, excused himself as he pushed it past Bill then closed the door once it was outside.

Scully had meanwhile managed to don a robe and drop the gun to her side. By this time even the thick-skulled Bill Scully was starting to get the picture. Okay, his sister was in the FBI, but she was a doctor for God's sake! She cut up dead people! She didn't go around acting like lady Rambo and shooting people, did she? I mean the only time she ever got hurt, it was following her damned alien conspiracy nut case of a partner.

But he recalled the television news the previous week, how she and Mulder had been involved in that Seattle child murderer case...and the speed with which she'd leaped off the bed to defend her partner.

Shit.

"Was that... _you_ who shot one of those child killers in Seattle?" He asked in a stunned voice.

"Yeah, Bill, that was your kid sister," Mulder said as he moved the trolley over to the table. "And the night before last she took the fifth one out for good measure."

Bill's face screwed up. He'd heard an FBI agent had shot and killed the leader, but he just could never reconcile FBI involvement in things like that, with his sister. Little Dana who'd cried over a lousy garter snake.

"Bill," Scully replaced the gun in Mulder's holster, but carried it with her to the small, impromptu dining table, "I strongly suggest you leave the hotel..."

"But I have a room here!" he motioned. "The one next door!"

Mulder rolled his eyes as he sat at the table. So much for a late afternoon of uninhibited lovemaking.

"Well, Bill, I recommend you either take an earlier flight back to San Diego, or live with the fact that the screams you next hear coming from this room are _not_ to be interpreted in any other way than your sister being very thoroughly fucked, thank you very much, or I swear, no matter how much it pains me to have to tell Mom, I _will_ shoot you! Now get out!"


	18. Epilgoue

**FBI Headquarters - Hoover Building**

**Washington, D.C.**

**Two weeks later**

"Agent's Smith and West were agreeable?" Mulder asked A.D.

Skinner.

"Under your direction, West will continue to profile on a consultant basis, however incoming X-files will take precedent, at your discretion. Smith was understandably pleased with a promotion to D.C. from a field office."

"He deserves it, he's good."

Skinner nodded agreement. "And the specialists Scully approached have all agreed. They're being bumped up a level in pay, so the move to D.C. was also welcome.

"What about Scully's assistant? That approved, too?"

"The board was somewhat reticent, but when I pointed out Scully's acceptance was conditional on her ability to retain her position as your partner, given your success rate and the current kudos surrounding the Line Killings, they agreed. But don't let it go to your head, Mulder. Staying out of trouble would be viewed as appropriate gratitude. It might even mean an increased budget next year."

Mulder grinned. He was happy they'd maintained their basement office. Moving all the old archives to Quantico had given them almost ten times the current floor space.

Enough room to accommodate West and Smith in addition to private offices for he and Scully, and a shared clerk/secretary.

When renovations were complete, a large part of the new forensics division would be moved into the remainder of the basement. That meant all new air conditioning and heating units, carpeted offices instead of linoleum floors and much to Scully's relief, new women's rest rooms, complete with lockers and showers.

Mulder nodded as Skinner stood to dismiss him. He walked to the door, but before leaving he turned and asked, "How's Dr. Palmer doing at Quantico?"

Mulder already knew, Scully had told him the previous night when she'd come back from lecturing the new classes, but Mulder couldn't resist the temptation to see his boss' human side.

Skinner's face remained impassive, but Mulder saw the look in the A.D.'s eyes.

"Fine, seems to be coping...well."

Mulder's lips curled as he went to leave. Running close to the top of her class in most subjects, and breaking her self-defense instructor's arm was *coping*, all right.

"Just one last thing, Agent Mulder," Skinner asked as his agent's hand reached for the door.

"Sir?"

"I have an...odd report on my desk about an incident that took place at a D.C. hotel two weeks back. Something about a naval officer in confrontation with two FBI agents.

Anything you would care to elaborate on?"

Mulder stared at his boss innocently.

Skinner didn't blink. "Would informing you that the naval officer registered as one William Scully and that the agents were registered under the name George Hale assist your memory, Agent Mulder?"

Mulder remained impassive.

"Fine Mulder, but off the record, next time you and Agent Scully use a hotel, on assignment or otherwise, I personally don't care if you only use one, but at least have the common sense to *book* two rooms. Do I make myself clear?"

Mulder allowed himself a very tiny smirk as he left. "Very, sir."

As he made his way back down to the basement, he opened the letter once again and scanned the contents. His eyes settled on the news that Crystal's father had petitioned to adopt Peter Sprackett, the boy whose mother sold him into an unspeakable horror.

Life's horrors would continue, animals like Jameison would always be around the next corner, and he had to unravel and entirely new mystery around his own ability to move into the fifth dimension. But at least for now, for them, for he and Scully, for the X-files, today was a good day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback...hey, it's all that feeds us, we sure aren't paid for this! spider@webspin.org
> 
> Thanks for coming this far, I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it instead of working .
> 
> I personally think Mulder was married to Diana, but since I wouldn't have given two hoots if he'd nearly shot her during a mirroring event, I had to give him a nice wife instead :-)
> 
> Didn't mean to be quite so sappy at the end, but it was pretty dark in places, so I thought, what the hell. I wrote Chapter 7 in one sitting, late one afternoon listening to Mark Snow's CD _The Snow Files_ and that last few minutes of track 11, the end of the X-files....ah, almost had me in tears.
> 
> Couple of references: _Whoever Fights Monsters_ by Robert Ressler and Tom Shachtman _I have lived the Monster_ ditto _Justice is Served_ ditto and _Journey into Darkess_ by John Douglass as told to Mark Olshaker _MindHunter_ ditto _Unabomber_ ditto All are much darker than this piece and can be purchased through amazon.com.
> 
> Also highly recommended on the subject of profiling are two great works of fanfic;
> 
> "Oklahoma" and "The Abyss Looks Back." Both can be found archived at MTA and Gossamer under the alphabetical listing by story name.
> 
> Spider
> 
> 26th September, 1999
> 
> \-----
> 
> -Oh, as to Mulder's reference to a
> 
> person from Porlock in the prologue...
> 
> "In Xanadu did Kublai Khan A stately pleasure dome decree....
> 
> And then that asshole from Porlock turned up and stuffed up an opiate high and what would have rivaled The _Rime of the Ancient Mariner_ (S.T. Colerige)....They probably have bee hives in Porlock, too .


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